


The Castaways

by Cheree_Cargill



Series: The Castaways [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Abandonment, Alien Planet, Animal Attack, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Weather, Beginnings, Cardassians, Child Injury, Childbirth, Consensual Sex, Endings, Escape, Exile, Explicit Language, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Hallucinations, Illnesses, Kahs'wan, Legal Matters, Looking to the Future, Major Character Injury, Mental Breakdown, Miscarriage, Natural Disasters, Original Character Death(s), Pon Farr, Pregnancy, Reconciliation, Sentient Non-Humanoids, Slaughter, Starvation, Survival, Tornado, Volcanic Eruption, Wakes & Funerals, War, homebuilding, marital rape, premature baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 01:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 433,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16075436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: Spock and Christine are kidnapped by Romulans seeking vengeance for the cloaking device incident and left to survive -- or more likely die -- on a remote uncharted planet in Romulan space.  There is absolutely no hope of rescue and they have to learn to survive there in a primitive, uninhabited world.





	1. Year One - Exile

**Author's Note:**

> The Castaways is copyright (c) 2006 by Cheree Cargill and may not be reproduced in any form without express written consent by the author. This work is in no way connected with "The Castaways" by Mary Lou Dodge. The similarity in titles is a pure coincidence. Star Trek and the Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. and Viacom. This is an amateur publication and no money is being made with their use here. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> NOTE: This is a massive novel that took me six years to write and which totals over 700 pages. I will get the rest posted as soon as I can, but it may take a while. This novel contains explicit sex, violence and language.

**Part I**

**Exile**

**Present Day**

Spock bent to clear the low doorway and dropped the armload of kindling next to the center hearth. The cave was empty, the fire banked down to embers. Christine wasn't back yet from her errands, although the daylight was fast beginning to wane.

Squatting next to the fire pit, he laid several dry twigs across the embers and poked among the coals, encouraging the fire to rouse itself. When it had caught once more, he fed it wood and then used his poker to push the cooking stones closer to the flame. As the flat stones heated, he turned to the chore of paring several tubers for evening meal, using his flint blade to peel them.

A commotion outside the dwelling drew his attention and almost at once a black-haired boy in his early teens rushed in, closely followed by a smaller girl, brown-haired and dirty, both bearing baskets of fruit.

"Papa!" shouted the boy. "Look what we found! Apples! Lots of 'em!"

"They are not apples, Sapel," Spock answered patiently but nevertheless admired the bounty.

"Well, Mama calls 'em that," the boy replied. "You can ask her yourself!"

A woman bent underneath the doorway, weary from the double load she carried, her gathering basket on one hip and her baby on the other. "Your Papa's right, Sapel," she said tiredly. "I don't know what their real name is."

The boy shrugged. "Well, if they don't have a name, then apple's good enough."

"A very logical deduction. Apples they shall be. Here, give me that basket, Christine," Spock said, starting to get to his feet.

"No, take T'Kai. Lord, but she's getting heavy!" Christine Chapel slipped the baby out of her carrying sling and handed the infant to Spock. Then she set the basket down next to the children's smaller ones. Straightening, she popped the kinks out of her back and stretched. "God, it's good to be home! So, how was _your_ day?"

"Not as productive as yours, unfortunately," Spock replied, supporting the baby as she tentatively tried standing on her wobbly legs. "The game is beginning to migrate. I fear we will have to do so soon as well."

"Yes... it's getting that time of the year again."

The other little girl, half her brother's age, leaned on his arm, looking intently up into his face. "Guess what we saw, Papa?" she asked.

"What did you see, T'Jenn?" Spock queried, giving her his full attention.

"A bunch of big birds! Lots and lots and lots of 'em! All flying the same way!"

"We saw a huge flock of black geese flying south," Christine explained. "Autumn is definitely closer than we think!"

"Yes..." Spock mused. "They'll be coming in on the river. Perhaps we could set snares..."

"Well, right now, I want you two--" She indicated the children. "--to wash up and get ready for supper. What have you got started there? Okay, I'll take it over."

"No, you sit and rest," Spock replied. "You're exhausted. I'll do it."

"Then let me have T'Kai back. I might as well feed her while you cook." Christine settled herself onto the furs and Spock handed the baby back over to her. Cradling the infant in the crook of her left arm, Christine opened the front of her jerkin and put the child to her breast where she immediately began to nurse eagerly.

Spock set a clay bowl onto the cooking stones and filled it with water from the container that stood nearby, then finished peeling and chopping the tubers. By the time the water was bubbling, he scooped up handfuls of the vegetable, dropping them into the pot. Adding some herbs and rough crushed salt, he stirred the mixture with a carved wooden spoon.

It had grown dark outside as the sun set and there was a little chill in the evening air, but he did not move to close the leather flap of the doorway. He'd grown used to the cooler temperatures here and anyway the open door kept the cave from becoming too smoky, despite the exhaust hole in the roof. His son and older daughter returned from washing and plopped down by the fire, watching hungrily as the meal was prepared.

"Will you tell us a story tonight, Papa?" Sapel asked.

"I think you're too tired for a story tonight," Spock answered, testing the tenderness of the vegetables. Almost ready.

"No, we're not," the boy insisted. "I wanna hear the one about the troubles again."

"Tribbles," Spock corrected him gently. "You have heard that tale at least a dozen times."

"But I still like it," the boy responded.

"Me, too," the girl echoed. "I like tibbles."

"Tribbles."

Over by the wall, Christine couldn't help laughing. "Give up, Spock," she grinned. "They won't let you rest until you tell it again."

He sighed and turned his gaze on his wife, still beautiful despite the hardship of the past few years, her long hair braided and hanging down her back, tendrils feathering around her tanned face. It had long since grown back out to its natural sable brown but the sun had streaked it with reddish-blonde highlights and her blue eyes still shown as radiantly as ever.

"Very well," he answered, smiling at her. "But only a little bit. I won't tell the entire tale." He looked back at his children. "Your mother is tired and so are you, although you won't admit it. Now, find your bowls before these _tala_ roots turn to mush!"

* * *

The children were settled onto their sleeping furs and already deep into slumber as Spock banked the fire for the night and pulled his leather shirt off over his head, draping it across a drying rack by the wall. Then, unlacing and shedding his moccasins and leggings, he lay down beside Christine, wearing only his loincloth. She had dressed in an old, buttery soft leather dress, thin from years of wear, but comfortable to sleep in.

As he settled beside her, she pulled the furs up over them and turned into his arms. He kissed her softly and asked in a low voice so as not to disturb the children, "Did you have to go far today?"

"Mmm ... all the way to the river. We were really lucky to find the fruit tree that we did. The summer was too dry. Pickings are slim."

"I know," he answered. "It's time to go farther south. Maybe to the sea this year."

She looked worried. "That's a long walk. Do you think the children can make it that far?"

"We'll move in easy stages," Spock replied thoughtfully. "If I can catch one of the horses, I can rig a travois. If they were bigger, we could ride."

She gave a lop-sided smile. "If wishes were horses..."

He shrugged and drew her closer. "You should sleep now," he murmured.

She snuggled against him, content in his comforting warmth. After a few minutes, she whispered, "How long have we been here, Spock? I can't remember. Is this the ninth or the tenth summer we've seen?"

"By my estimate, it has been eleven years, two months and approximately sixteen days," he responded softly.

She opened her eyes to look at him in amusement. "Approximately?"

He peered down at her, one eyebrow lifted. "Even I lose count, Christine. Go to sleep now."

"Yes, sweetheart. Good night."

"Good night."

Silence descended once more but Spock did not sleep. His thoughts turned instead back to the events, eleven years before, which had brought them to this world and the life they now knew...

* * *

**Stardate 6001.8.**

Spock paused at the second level railing and scanned the scene below and around him with amusement. The promenade of Deep Space Station 4 was crowded with the usual crush of traffic from this newly opened sector near the Romulan border. Ferengi traders hawked their wares shamelessly. Tall, stately Bethyians glided through the crowd, ruffling their golden plumage if jostled too roughly. A blue Saurian brandy-seller offered small cups of its home world's famous liquor, its scales glittering in the station's lights. A small group of Vulcans, robed and solemn, made their way in Spock's general direction here on the second level. Humanoids of every description -- civilian and Starfleet -- milled and mingled in the everyday throng. DS4 was a cross-roads in this sector and had quickly become a locus of shipping and business.

How different it all was when he'd joined Starfleet eighteen years before. Starfleet was a human organization, almost totally, despite being the military/exploratory arm of the Federation. Spock had paved the way for non-Terrans into the service and many had soon followed his lead. As Federation territory had expanded and incorporated new worlds and new races, Starfleet had become more diverse as a result. Where once Spock had been the only non-human on board the _Enterprise_ , they had recently welcomed aboard several newly minted officers that had included a felinoid, a Bolian, and two Betazeds.

The _Enterprise_ had put in here at DS4 for minor maintenance and the crew had been given shore leave to enjoy what resources there were on the station. Spock, of course, did not feel the need for R &R. In any case, as executive officer, he was required aboard ship most of the time and had only beamed over to the station to personally check on a supply problem that the quartermaster had reported. Sometimes the imposing presence of the tall, humorless Vulcan officer was needed to reinforce a deal with an independent dealer and this had proven the case.

Towering over the Ferengi merchant who was reluctant to finalize a transaction for foodstuffs that would suit the palates of the new alien crewmembers, the Vulcan had impressed upon the merchant his displeasure in the delay. The Ferengi had little actual dealings with Vulcans but had unfortunately experienced Romulan wrath in the past. To his eyes they were the same race and he quickly pressed his thumbprint onto the order and sent it out for processing. Satisfied, Spock turned and left, striding back in the direction of the station's transporter room. He had left a long list of duties to attend to this and was eager to get back aboard ship.

Nevertheless, he was pleased that it had gone smoothly and so he did not hurry. He rarely got to see such a diverse collection of peoples and he took a moment to enjoy it.

The three Vulcans that he had noticed earlier passed him and he exchanged a nod of greeting with them then turned to go on his way once more. As he did, he saw Christine Chapel standing before a shop window, her arms full of wrapped packages. She seemed to be having difficulty carrying them and he stepped up beside her.

"Good morning, Miss Chapel."

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Spock. I didn't know you'd come over."

"My presence was required on ship's business," he answered. "You seem to have already spent a good deal of time here."

She smiled. "I don't get the chance to shop very often."

"Indeed. May I assist you with your packages?"

"Would you? I'd really appreciate that!" She allowed him to take several of the parcels. "I've been buying things as gifts. It won't be long until the holidays and I like to pick things up when I get the chance."

"A wise idea," he acknowledged. "However, I would suggest that you take these purchases back to the ship before you buy any more. You seem to have reached your limit at the moment."

She laughed. "I think so, too." They began to thread their way in the direction of the transporter room. "Thank you for stopping to help me. I was about to start dropping things."

"So I surmised," he answered, looking down at her with a little smile playing in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "Human females do seem to have the ability to overestimate how many items they are able to carry."

She gave him a smile in return and then they were stopped by the line stretching outside the door to the transporter room. There was a lot of traffic going back and forth to the various ships in orbit.

They had just reached the cargo desk and Christine was processing her packages for transport back to the _Enterprise_ when a strange voice spoke up in Vulcan. " _Excuse me, sai, I apologize for the intrusion but could I ask your assistance?_ "

Spock and Christine looked around and found one of the Vulcans standing beside them. The man was dressed in a travel cloak with the hood pulled up over his head, shading his face. This was not unusual and Spock thought nothing of it. " _Of course_ ," he answered in his native tongue. " _How may I be of service to you?_ "

" _My companions and I do not speak Terran and are unable to communicate with the agent for passage on a ship we must board. We have just arrived here and I am afraid we neglected to have our toqtals transferred into Federation credits before we left Vulcan. Now we find ourselves without viable currency. Could you speak for us and aid in the purchase of our passage?_ "

" _I would be most pleased to translate for you_ ," Spock answered. " _Please lead the way_."

" _The honorable lady may accompany us_ ," the Vulcan replied with a small bow.

" _Very well_ ," Spock said and relayed the message to Christine, unsure why this was requested but not wishing to appear rude. Christine fed her final package into the transporter queue and indicated she was done.

The other Vulcan bowed again and started back through the throng, Spock and Christine following.

Their destination was one of the side corridors, out of the main traffic pattern, and there they found the other two Vulcans waiting, clad similarly to their companion, faces hooded. For a second, Spock faltered, sensing something amiss, but the leader turned and urged, " _Just a little farther_."

Against his better judgment, Spock continued on, Christine in his wake, until they reached the other two Vulcans. Then, abruptly, the three strangers leapt into action.

Before the Starfleet officers could react, two of the Vulcans had seized them, jamming phaser muzzles into their sides. Christine squealed in reflex and had a hand clapped over her mouth.

The third stranger stepped up close to Spock and threw back his hood, glaring malevolently. Only then did Spock recognize him.

"Tal!" he whispered.

"Yes," the Romulan answered in Standard. "It has taken me a long time to find you, Vulcan. And now it is time for payment of your debt."

"What debt?" Spock demanded tightly, all too aware of the phaser pressed against his stomach.

"To _her_. What you did to her," Tal responded. "You have no idea, do you?"

Spock remained silent.

"After you released her to Federation security, they bargained with Romulan Command for her return. _After_ they had interrogated her for weeks, that is. Finally, she was returned to our people, but then her real ordeal began." Tal's eyes blazed. "I will skip the bloody details because I do not have time here to relate them. Suffice to say that, when Command finished with her, she was sent into exile. You would not recognize her, Spock. My beautiful, brave, valiant Liviana was stripped of command, dignity and heritage. She lives now imprisoned on a lonely world, and she will never see home again."

The Romulan glared at Spock, his face hard. "Since it was your doing that sent her there, you shall share that fate. Not on _her_ world, of course. I would not subject her to that indignity. But on another I have chosen for you." He glanced at Christine. "I had planned on leaving you there alone, but I have a better idea now. You—" And he pointed at the woman. "—are one of the medical people who helped in this deception, are you not? How fitting then to add to our triumph. The two of you ... what a joke this is! ... a Vulcan man and a Human woman together, trying to survive! It will reach its climax, if you will pardon me, when the Mating comes upon you! Will you die in madness, unable to bond with a Human, or will you kill the woman in your fervor?" Tal laughed loudly. "Oh, this is better than I planned! I wish I could be there to watch!"

Spock was breathing heavily. "She had nothing to do with this, Tal. Leave her out of it."

"Very well. Then we shall simply kill her here." He brought his phaser up level with Christine's forehead. She gave a scream, muffled by the hand still over her mouth, and squirmed desperately.

"No!" Spock snapped, terrified that the Romulan would carry out his threat.

Tal lowered the weapon. "Then you _do_ prefer my suggestion."

"Just do not harm her," Spock answered desperately.

Tal smirked again at him and brought out a communicator from the folds of his robe. " _Raptor_ ," he said into it. "Lock on and energize."

And then the beam of a Romulan transporter caught them and the station vanished around them.

* * *

The planet where they left them was Class M, beautifully Earth-like, but completely absent of sentient life. Spock had not the faintest idea of its location except that he suspected it was somewhere inside Romulan space. Tal had kept them locked in his brig for two days then forced them into the transporter room. On the pad were two small heaps of supplies.

"I will leave you with what they left her," he said. "Enough to get you started, then you are on your own."

And that was it. When Spock and Christine materialized on the planet surface with their small store of belongings, the awful fact hit them that they were stranded with no help in sight and no hope of rescue.

Around them stretched a wide plain, gently rolling and dotted with occasional trees. Knee‑deep grass rippled in the breeze, green and lush, thick with small yellow flowers. Far off, they could see a herd of some sort of animals grazing placidly. The sky overhead was blue and streaked with white cirrus clouds, and something like birds darted about, chasing insects. It was utterly beautiful and utterly wild.

Uncaring what he might think about it, Christine sank into Spock's arms and buried her face in the soft blue fabric covering his chest, giving herself over to hysterical sobs. He was too stunned to do anything but hold her and try to stay upright himself.

* * *

**Present Day**

The baby's fussing woke Spock the next morning and he rolled over to find Christine sitting cross-legged on the furs, changing the infant's diaper. Seeing him awake, Christine smiled and said softly, "Good morning."

"Good morning," he answered, sitting upright. "Do you need any help?"

"You can dispose of that," she answered, indicating a wad of sphagnum moss and fluff she'd set to one side. She was in the process of packing more between T'Kai's legs and securing it with a rough square of chamois. The plant fluff cushioned the moss and made it more comfortable.

Spock got up and gingerly picked up the discarded diaper stuffing between thumb and forefinger and went outside, still clad only in his loincloth. Making his way down the hill to the little creek that flowed nearby, he tossed the moss into the water and watched it float away downstream. While there, he took the opportunity to relieve himself and then, after settling the buckskin covering back into place, squatted down to wash his hands in the swiftly flowing water.

Standing back upright, he pulled a twig off a tree branch and peeled the bark away with his thumbnail, then stuck it in his mouth and began to chew on the end. While he did so, he picked and peeled three more twigs and started back up the hill to the little cave he shared with his family.

"I brought you a toothbrush," he said to Christine as he entered.

"Oh, thank you, sweetheart." She was holding T'Kai with one arm as the baby suckled and stirring cooking grain in a pot with the other hand.

Spock pulled on his leather breeches and secured them, then laced on his knee-high moccasins. The soles were getting worn, he noted. He'd have to think about a hunt that would secure them a hide tough enough that he could cut shoes. The children had gone barefoot all summer but would need foot coverings soon as cold weather approached.

Pulling his shirt on over his head, he went back to the fire and took over the cooking from Christine so that she could give her attention to her baby. "What are your plans today?" he asked her.

"We've got to prepare and start drying the apples," she answered. "Why?"

"Can you spare Sapel?"

"I suppose. What's up?"

Spock dished the porridge out into the little set of carved wooden bowls to allow it to cool a bit. "I need him to help me. I'm going to try to catch one of the little horses and it will be easier with two of us."

"Good idea," she answered and looked down at the child in her arms. "All done, sweetie‑pie?" She disengaged the baby from her nipple and put her up to her shoulder to burp her. The older children began to stir, awakened by the smell of breakfast and the voices of their parents, and Spock reflected for a moment how content and comfortable he was now. It had been so different in the early days...

* * *

**Year One**

Spock let Christine cry for a little while then pushed her away from him. "That will do us no good, Miss Chapel. Our immediate concern is survival and overwrought emotions will only complicate the matter."

She wiped her face, attempting to get herself under control. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spock. You're right, as usual. But I'm scared out of my wits! What are we going to do?!"

He looked around them. "First ... I think we should see what sort of supplies the Romulans left us and then we can plan accordingly. Next, I believe finding shelter would be in order. Those animals grazing there are plant eaters and logic dictates that there must be some form of predator or predators that feed on them. Until we can identify the local wildlife, it would be wise to find a shelter that will give us the maximum protection." He scanned the countryside around them. "That copse of trees might be best. I suggest that it would be prudent to spend the hours of darkness on a level sufficiently above the ground to discourage ready access to ourselves and our supplies."

"You mean you want us to climb a tree?" she answered rather incredulously.

"Would you rather sleep on the ground and risk being eaten by the local equivalent of a lion?" he responded.

"Well, when you put it that way... all right ... let's check the supplies and then go pick out a tree."

The supplies consisted of several dozen parcels of dried military food cakes, a canteen of water each, a small portable analyzer unit for testing native plants, two hunting knives with scabbards and belts, a first aid kit, two blankets made of a woven material like wool, two plasticine rain capes, two pocket-sized fire starters, old-fashioned chemical-reaction scratch sticks in a waterproof box, and a small bound book written in Romulan. Thumbing through it, Spock deduced that it must be a military survival guide. It did them little good since neither of them spoke or read Romulan but some of the letters and words looked similar to Vulcan and he decided that he could eventually translate it.

This meager store was packed into two military backpacks and, after buckling on the knife, he swung his arms through the straps of one and settled it across his shoulders. Christine followed his example, her hands trembling so that it took her longer to get the buckle closed on her knife belt. Then, donning her own pack, she followed Spock as they set out across the grassland toward the trees they had spotted about a mile away.

The sun was beginning slip low into the west by the time they reached them. Once there, Spock set about the task of locating a suitable tree. Watching him, Christine ventured, "How do you know that there won't be predators up in the trees, too?"

"I do not. I merely surmise that our chances for surviving the night are greater off the ground than on it. At least until we are able to study our environment. Ah ... I believe this one will do."

Spock was staring up the trunk of a massive oak-like tree, its multitude of gnarled limbs spreading out in a wide canopy. The lowest limb was a good eight feet off the ground but offered easy access from there to a thick network of other limbs higher up.

"Do you think you can reach that limb if I give you a boost, Miss Chapel?" he asked, gauging the distance.

"Do I have a choice?" she responded rhetorically.

He bent slightly and formed a saddle with his hands and she put one foot in it, bracing her hands on both his shoulders. He bent forward a little more then abruptly launched her upward, his massive strength easily lifting her high enough to catch the overhanging limb. Still supporting her foot, he pushed her higher, enabling her to get a leg over and straddle the branch.

"So far, so good," she called down. "Now ... how are you going to get up here?"

"Catch my backpack as I toss it up," he instructed. "And please try not to fall out of the tree, if you will!"

"I'll do my best!" she retorted in an ironic tone. He swung the pack by the straps and it sailed up into her reach, where she caught it and hung it on the stump of a limb just above her. "Okay, now what?"

"Climb up a little farther."

A little laboriously, she did so, then looked down to see Spock bouncing on the balls of his feet, gathering himself. With a sudden lunge, he made a mighty leap upward. His hands caught the limb, slipped, then reaffirmed their grip. His muscles bulging, he pulled himself up waist high with the limb and swung one leg over it, then blew out his breath and looked up at Christine.

"Find a place where you can rest through the night," he said. "I shall do likewise. Then we can do nothing more than wait out the darkness."

It took a while and Christine both tore her stockings and obtained a long bloody scratch down her leg in the process but finally both of them had managed to lodge themselves side by side into places where the massive branches forked out from the main trunk. It was actually fairly comfortable because they could lean back against the trunk and still remain secure enough that they had little fear of falling. Once there, they settled in for the night, managing to tuck their respective woolen blankets around them to ward off the evening chill, already becoming pronounced after the sun had set. They each sampled one of the Romulan food cakes and found them palatable if not genuinely appetizing.

By then it was truly dark and Christine began to be aware of the night that was coming alive around them. Insects scritched and cheeped from the grassy fields. Weird hooting sounds came from deeper in the woods behind them and was answered by hoots even farther away. Something moved along the ground below them but it was too dark to see what it was.

In the eastern sky, three small moons rose, one about the size of Earth's own satellite and the other two progressively smaller. They were all three about a quarter full and shed little light on the grasslands. Far out onto the plain, there was a sudden commotion, a high pitched shriek amid a burst of braying, punctuated by deep-throated roars. After a couple of minutes all was quiet again.

Christine reached over and groped for Spock's hand in the darkness, comforted when he caught and squeezed her fingers lightly in his. "What do you think that was?" she asked fearfully.

"Our theoretical predators making a kill," he answered matter-of-factly. "We shall try to locate the site in the morning and see what we can learn."

"I just hope our predators don't think we're breakfast," she replied and pulled her hand reluctantly back to herself as he released it.

A long time passed and Christine fell asleep despite herself. Snugged into the tree's embrace and with the blanket pulled up under her chin, she dreamed that she was sitting in her father's big easy chair at home. Spock was there, keeping watch, and she felt safe. He turned and looked down at her, his dark eyes warm and full of affection for her. His lips pulled into a smile and then that widened into a grin. He began to laugh, a malicious guffawing full of satisfaction and cruelty. It wasn't Spock anymore. It was the Romulan, Tal, and he began to lean in closer and closer to her face.

Christine jerked awake, remembering where she was a split second before she would have bolted upright. And then she froze in absolute terror. Something was peering around the limb just in front of her, staring directly at her with large, luminous eyes. Then she caught her breath in a gasp as the eyes loomed suddenly closer.

Reflexively, she let out a terrified scream and the eyes vanished, accompanied by the sound of something scrambling down the trunk — several somethings, in fact — all giving voice to the hooting sound they'd heard earlier. One of those somethings abruptly latched onto her arm and she screeched again, jerking away before realizing that it was Spock that had grabbed her, both out of surprise and to keep her from falling.

She clutched at his thigh. "Oh, God! What was that, Spock?"

"I don't know," he answered, his own voice shaking slightly. "Are you all right? Are you harmed?"

"No ... I'm okay," she sniffed. "Just so scared I nearly wet myself!" She burst into tears. "Oh, God ... I want to go home!"

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, all that he could do. There was nothing he could say to comfort her. Finally, when her tears had eased, he said, "I believe it is near morning. Try to go back to sleep if you can. I shall stay awake and keep watch."

The shock and emotional burst left her feeling weak. She lay back against the tree trunk and pulled up the blanket once more. She didn't realize that she'd drifted off again until she opened her eyes and found the morning well under way.

* * *

**Present Day**

Spock crouched in the tall grass, waiting, and watched the figure of his son move around to the far side of the herd of primitive horses. The little animals were alert, bunching together restlessly, but were unable to smell any of their usual predators. They could see Sapel but didn't know what he was.

The boy began an easy trot towards them and the herd stallion threw up his head and snorted loudly. That got the mares and foals moving and they started trotting as well ... right into Spock's ambush.

Spock held still until they were almost upon him then suddenly leaped to his feet and dashed straight at a mare that had come closer to him than the rest. She whinnied in fright and bolted, but her short legs did not give her enough acceleration to outdistance him at this short range. Calling upon his Vulcan strength and speed, Spock closed to within reach and made a grab at her streaming tail.

The little horse kicked back with one hind foot and swirled to meet her attacker, then was suddenly hit from the other side as Sapel launched himself at her and tackled her around the neck. She whipped back around, teeth bared, but then Spock had her by her sensitive nose and the two Vulcans wrestled the animal to a standstill.

She bucked and fought but after a few minutes gave up, her sides heaving, her eyes huge with fright.

"It's all right now," Spock said soothingly to her, stroking the lathered dun hide, and Sapel did the same, keeping a secure grip on her mane nonetheless, both of them sending comfort thoughts to quiet her.

Gradually the animal seemed less frightened and Spock went to work, gently digging a finger into the corner of her mouth so that she was forced to open her jaws, then he slipped the noose of a woven leather rope over her lower teeth and secured it with a slip knot. Puzzled by the strange thing in her mouth, the horse champed her teeth and worked her tongue, trying to rid herself of it, but it was caught too firmly and after a while she got used to that, as well.

Sapel was now stroking her neck and patting her gently. "Good girl! It won't hurt, I promise. You caught a good one, Papa!"

Spock nodded. "They all seem fairly placid when not frightened," he confirmed. "Not very intelligent but she will serve our purpose."

He took some time to look over his catch. The animal, of course, was not really a horse but he and Christine had dubbed them that. Occasionally, his wife called them "mezzies" after the more scientific name Spock had given them. More than anything, they reminded him of _mesohippus_ , a primitive prehistoric ancestor of the modern horse. The animals were about the size of a very large dog – a mastiff perhaps – three-toed and with short, stocky legs supporting a body that was changing from a forest dweller to a plains animal. They were generally the color of yellowed grass with darker brown stripes almost like a zebra, a camouflage that worked extremely well on the open prairie. A stiff, dark-brown mane followed the crest of their necks, then became a stripe down their backs to the base of their tails, which, again like a zebra, was short-haired for about half its length before bursting into a thick tassel of long hair at its end.

Spock now looped the leather braid around the back of the mezzie's head and back down to the jaw section. In a moment, he had fashioned a simple halter to control the animal. Taking a step forward, he urged her to go with him.

She balked, spooked by the strange sensation, but he was patient and gradually she began to take steps forward with him, Sapel guiding her from the other side. In a very short time, they had her walking nicely between them, and they began the journey home.

Sapel petted her and talked reassuringly to her, interspersing his horse talk with comments and questions to his tall father. Spock couldn't help glancing proudly at the boy, musing on how fast he was growing. This had been his tenth summer by this planet's counting, but by Vulcan years, he was already an adolescent. He had sprouted like a sapling, slim, with arms and legs that seemed too long, and a child's face that was on its way to becoming a man's. Despite the fact that he was three-quarters Human, his physical features were Vulcan, concealing the fact that most of his heritage was Terran.

Sapel looked up at him and asked seriously, "Are we leaving soon, Papa?"

"Soon. I don't know yet when. There are still things to be done. Perhaps in a week or two. We'll see."

"I heard you tell Mama we were going to the sea."

"Maybe. It's a long way. Again, I will have to see—"

Sapel erupted into sudden motion and Spock barely had time to realize what was happening before the boy's bola whipped out in a deadly blur. A second later it impacted a small, furry animal that leaped into the air and then fell back into the grass.

Sapel sprang after it and a few minutes later returned with the body of a long legged animal, holding it by its oversized hind feet. "Meat tonight!" he announced.

Spock nodded in approval. It had taken him a long time to accept the fact and even now his stomach still gave him a twinge of protest. He thought back to the early days when he steadfastly held onto his Vulcan upbringing, refusing to bow to the logic of their situation. He'd nearly starved to death...

* * *

**Year One**

They had found more or less permanent shelter six days later. Christine had declared that she'd risk getting eaten rather than spend another night in a tree and Spock was inclined to agree with her. Both of them were bruised and scraped, stiff and tired, and even Spock had to admit that it had only been a stop-gap measure.

The trees, as it turned out, followed the meandering course of a stream that cut through the plains and eventually flowed into a small creek a few miles away. Having no better plan, the two exiles followed the creek along its route, exploring as they went, using the analyzer unit to test various edible looking plants along the way. There wasn't a lot. It appeared to be spring here and, while many trees and bushes were lush with blossoms and the promise of a good harvest months later, there was very little fruit left from last year's crop. Animals had eaten it all over the winter.

The creek itself flowed at the bottom of a channel eroded about ten feet deep into white limestone bedrock. Ankle-to-knee deep, it gurgled placidly along, shaded by overhanging trees on both sides, their roots exposed and bare. There were numerous places where Spock and Christine could make their way down to the water and here they found a wide variety of tracks in the sand and mud along the creek bank. Little fish-like creatures darted about in pools and once they surprised a long, slick animal that looked like a snake with legs. It plopped into the water and disappeared.

They spent their second night by the water on a sandbar that stretched across a bend in the creek bed. They managed to find enough deadwood to light a fire and the security of the limestone wall at their back made them sleep easier.

Nothing bothered them and they continued on in this manner for the next several days. On the sixth day, they reached a place where the creek emptied itself in a little waterfall over a small escarpment and into a pond at its base, then ran on through a shallow valley toward the river that they could see glinting about a mile away. Best of all, there appeared to be little caves eroded into the limestone and they spent the rest of the day "house hunting", investigating each one for size, depth and, most importantly, current occupants.

The biggest one stretched back about fifteen feet, another fifteen feet wide, and ten feet high, the floor sloping gently towards the opening. A crack in the roof demonstrated its origin — water had run in through the skylight and gradually eaten away at the stone. The "door" faced south and was wide enough to let in light but not so wide as to be impossible to close up if need be. And there didn't appear to be any evidence that something else called this hole "home".

Spock looked at Christine, his expression plainly asking her opinion. "I doubt that we will find anything much better," he said. "At least not right away."

"It suits me," she responded then grinned mischievously. "What do you think ... should you carry me across the threshold or drag me in by my hair?"

His eyebrows shot up to the line of his bangs. "Miss Chapel! You know that I would never do anything—"

"I was joking, Spock" she responded. "Well, I think I'll call this the kitchen, and that will be the living room, and ... oh, dear, there doesn't appear to be space for separate bedrooms and a game room, too. I guess we'll just have to work something out!"

"Indeed," he answered, still shocked by her earlier suggestion.

She grinned again and shrugged off her pack, becoming more serious. "I guess we should set up housekeeping then. So ... which side of the cave do you want?"

It didn't take long to unpack their meager belongings and arrange them. Spock spread his blanket out a little closer to the doorway since he was the lighter sleeper and had the most acute senses, thus being the more logical one to guard their front entrance. Christine laid hers down against the opposite wall, becoming aware that this was where they'd be living now and that Spock would be almost within arm's reach of her.

Traveling and camping each night, the situation had not seemed quite real to her. It wasn't "home" and her subconscious continued to hold onto the hope that somehow they would be found and rescued. Never had she been in any trouble from which she wasn't ultimately saved and brought back to her familiar surroundings. She was still in denial that their present circumstances were permanent. She had hidden behind the mental camouflage that this was merely a jaunt, a holo adventure, maybe even a dream, but still a safe screen to shield her from reality.

Spock was much more pragmatic, his Vulcan training forcing him to look at a situation and meet it head on. No matter that Christine was attempting to remain upbeat, he was extremely worried. They were moving from immediate survival methods and into long-term basics. Needing to think, he said, "I am going to gather some firewood. Why don't you see if you can find stones that are suitable for constructing a hearth ring? I shall return shortly. I saw a pile of drift wood not far away."

"Be careful," she admonished him. "There might be snakes or something in that brush pile!"

He nodded and started off. Walking down to the water's edge, Spock found a large flat rock and sat down on it, giving himself over to the subject of their survival. Logically, he ticked off the things he must consider — food, clothing, shelter, tools — and then he examined them one by one.

Shelter. That was the easiest. The little cave looked as if it would suffice. It appeared dry and snug, easily defended, although he would need to construct some sort of barrier that would keep out any predator that might attempt to enter it. He had no idea yet what sort of animals there might be here.

He added a fifth point — exploration. They must find out about their surroundings, the plants and animals, the weather and seasons, geological conditions and any dangers they should be aware of, such as seismic activity. The contours of this little valley led him to believe that the creek flooded periodically, possibly even with flash floods. Fortunately, their new shelter was high enough that he hoped any flood waters would not reach it.

Subpoint — the "smoke hole" needed to be examined for water flow pattern. It wouldn't do to have water pouring in every time it rained. Possibly he could build a chimney around it to encourage smoke draw and yet prevent water from entering.

Next point ... tools. That covered a broad range of things — eating utensils, weapons, things with which to sew and cook and prepare leather. Tools to make other tools. Another subpoint — look for flint nodules that would be suitable for flaking into knives, scrapers, axes, and other things. They would need to be alert to anything they could use — shed antlers, bones, stones, wood, plants. Of necessity they must learn to make everything they would need.

That led to clothing. Much as he abhorred the idea, they would need to kill animals and learn to tan the hides. Their Starfleet uniforms were already showing wear and tear and would not last many weeks longer. Not to mention the fact that they had to wash them _sometime_ and there was nothing to wear while the clothing dried. They would also need warmer clothing than they had. Presumably this planet's climate included a colder period and they would need furs, coats, warm boots, hats, all manner of arctic clothing to keep them warm.

Spock searched his memory and realized that he didn't know how to tan leather. He doubted that Christine did either. He would have to work diligently on translating the Romulan survival guide and hope that the information he sought was there.

Then he turned to the subject of food. They would have to examine the area for edible plants — tubers, fruit, grains. How many ways could they be prepared and eaten safely? Could grain be ground into flour? Would fruit keep if dried? What plants could be used as medicine? Which ones avoided at all costs?

Then, finally, he forced himself to think about a subpoint he'd been avoiding because it contained an unpleasant fact that he was not yet ready to face. Sooner or later, the food plants in the area would be exhausted and the only way they would be able to survive was by hunting. The thought of killing and eating an animal turned his stomach. Just thinking of roasting flesh or blood dripping from butchered animal tissue caused a wave of nausea to nearly overcome him.

No, he couldn't... he _wouldn't_ eat meat. He'd starve first. Somehow, somewhere he'd find enough vegetable matter to survive. Vulcans were extremely resilient and could go for a long time on very little food. They proved that in the _kahs'wan_ test.

 _That was only for a week_ , said a little voice in the back of his head. _What are you going to do when weeks become months? You haven't been truly hungry yet. So hungry that you would eat anything to survive_.

Spock shuddered and forced the thought away. He would deal with that when the time came, he told himself. Then, seeing that the sun had crossed into the western sky, he rose and made his way to the pile of driftwood that lay scattered against a bend in the creek bed. Christine would be getting worried about him and he wanted to be back well before dark.

* * *

Spock stopped what he was doing and flexed the fingers of his right hand, working the cramps out of the muscles. He had been working all morning, first in searching out a suitable stone to use as a hand axe, then finding another to chip off flakes from one end to sharpen it to an edge, then going in search of saplings or limbs that he could use to build a barrier.

He had a sizeable stack of wood laid out now but still needed more. Down on his knees beside a young sapling, he had been hammering away at its base, chips flying as the stone edge bit into the wood. He had rejected the idea of using the knife he'd acquired from the Romulans. He couldn't risk dulling it. The hand axe fit his palm nicely, but the rough surface on his uncalloused hands was beginning to wear and he felt certain that he'd have blisters by nightfall.

The sun had climbed to mid-day since he and Christine had set out this morning. He had assigned her the task of exploring the area for edible plants and collecting samples. Meanwhile, he had tackled his list of chores that would fortify their shelter and provide them with materials to make tools. He had included in his wood-gathering both a supply of seasoned firewood and also straight timber that could be fashioned into spear shafts, arrows and bows.

All during the time that he labored, his agile mind was working on the problems of their survival. He hadn't slept last night, but sat at the entrance to their cave keeping watch, noting and beginning to catalog the sounds he heard during the evening and any movement his keen night vision had picked out in the valley.

Christine had slept the slumber of the exhausted and occasionally he could not resist turning his gaze on her face and form, illuminated slightly in the pale light of the three moons filtering in through the smoke hole.

He had been decidedly uncomfortable to find himself imprisoned with her, his innate fear of emotional involvement nearly sending him into a panic. But then he'd taken that fear firmly in hand and banished it. For the entire time they'd been trapped here, outside of a couple of initial emotional outbursts, she had behaved exceptionally well, proving again her strength and resourcefulness.

And there was something else. Deep inside he was beginning to admit that he was aware of her as a woman and the fact that they were stranded here, like Adam and Eve, made him think ahead to a time that would inevitably come. He was about halfway through the cycle of his _pon farr_. If they survived that long, she was the only choice he had for bonding.

Not that he found that entirely displeasing, he hastily corrected himself. Indeed, he found that the thought of bonding with her did not distress him at all. Still, it was inappropriate to think of her in that context. Despite her early declaration of her love for him, she had been quite circumspect in displaying any further amorous actions. Perhaps it had all been simply the results of the Psi 2000 virus. _He_ had certainly lost control when infected by the virus and, if his rigid barriers could be breached so easily, then _hers_ should prove even more vulnerable.

Spock sighed and went back to chopping at the sapling with his crude hand axe and was rewarded as the wood split and the little tree toppled. That was enough for this load, Spock decided, and carefully laid the axe down where he could easily find it again.

This was the third load of wood that he had transported back to the cave mouth since he began. The first load was unwieldy and he had devised a simpler method. Stripping off his blue tunic, which had begun to grow uncomfortably warm in any case, Spock had laid it down with the sleeves outstretched and placed the cut wood along its length. Then he had pulled the sleeves up around it and tied them securely. He did so now with this load of wood, then squatted down, hefted the bundle onto his right shoulder, and stood, his muscles bulging underneath the snug black t‑shirt he still wore. Then he started up the now familiar pathway along the shore of the pond.

He hadn't seen Christine since this morning and, after he dropped the wood onto the pile he'd accumulated, he decided to find her and make sure she was all right. As he walked back down to the shore, he heard splashing and searched out the source.

A bright flash of blonde hair and pink skin halted him in his tracks and he stared, absolutely astonished, at the sight of his companion submerging once more under the water. In a few seconds, she surfaced again with a brilliant spray and then, shoulder deep, pushed her wet hair out of her face.

Spock recovered from his surprise and marched down to the water's edge. "Miss Chapel!" he demanded. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Oh, Spock!" She ducked a little bit lower. "I just couldn't stand myself anymore. I decided I had to have a bath!"

"It was very foolish to go into the water alone," he admonished her. "If you wanted to bathe, you should have let me know so that I could stand guard."

"What? And have you ogle me in the altogether?"

His eyebrows went up in offense. "Miss Chapel, I do not 'ogle' women. I am quite capable of turning my back to protect your privacy."

She grinned mischievously. "Then how could you see if anything got me?" she asked.

"I could not," he admitted, crossing his arms and gazing at her serenely. "I would have to be guided by any screams you emitted during the process."

Christine laughed and then paused, caught by the sight of him. She couldn't help but be struck by his sheer masculinity as he stood clad all in black, his arms mostly bare, the regulation t‑shirt showing off his physique as the velour tunic did not. She felt her body give a distinct throb of desire. "You could use a bath yourself, you know," she commented. "Why don't you join me, Spock? The water is wonderful."

One eyebrow went up again and he tilted his head slightly. "I think not, Miss Chapel. It would be improper for the two of us to swim unclothed."

"Spock, it's just you and me here," she replied. "Who cares whether it's proper or not?"

"I do," he answered, his gaze level.

She peered back at him for a long moment, their eyes meeting, and she saw that he was completely serious. And then she smiled again as her love for this man soared even higher. He was completely honorable and completely honest, and she knew that she could trust him as she had never trusted any man before.

"Okay," she said. "I'm coming out. Turn around."

For a second, the thought of her emerging naked from the water made Spock freeze, caught by a pulse of urgency that surged through him. Then he did as she asked and he listened to the splashes as she waded out close by. There were other sounds and then she said, "All right. I'm dressed."

He turned to find her clad not in her uniform but in a dress-of-sorts consisting of one of the rain ponchos from their survival gear, tied at the waist with a belt made of her dark tights. They had become increasingly ragged during the days of travel and Christine had finally come close to discarding them altogether. But then she'd realized that they couldn't afford to throw anything away and had found another use for them.

Spock raised an eyebrow at her bare-legged, barefoot appearance, her hair slicked back and dripping.

"Where is your uniform?" he asked.

"I washed it. It stunk to high heaven and I couldn't stand it anymore." She gestured to her new attire. "It was this or go naked while it dried."

"Very resourceful of you," he commented, although again the mental vision of her nude body flashed through his mind. "Come back to the cave and show me what you found in the way of plants. I am most curious to sample the local cuisine. Meantime, I have a question for you... can you tan leather?"

* * *

The flickering firelight made it difficult to decipher the glyphs of the Romulan language, but Spock worked at it steadily night after night. It was beginning to make some sense to him, enough so that he could follow the context of the writing. After a while, his eyes began to ache and he looked up at Christine who was sitting on the other side of the fire from him. She was using an antler point to scratch marks into a shoulder blade that they'd found in a bone pile a little further down the river. Spock hadn't identified to which animal it belonged although he strongly suspected it to be an elk-like creature that he saw occasionally.

Now he peered curiously at Christine and asked softly, "What are you doing?"

"Making a calendar," she answered. "We've been here twenty-two days and I want to be sure and keep track."

"All you have to do is ask me for that information," he replied mildly. "I know exactly how long we have been here."

She glanced up. "You do _now_ , but what about later? And, anyway, there are some things I need to keep a count on that you wouldn't know about."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Indeed?" She didn't answer him, going back to her intense scratching. He looked at her closer and thought that the color of her face had deepened. That made him even more curious. "Like what?" he prompted.

She finally looked up at him and he saw that she was indeed blushing a bit. "All right, like my period," she responded, irritated. "I started my period yesterday and I need to keep track of it, okay? Any other personal information you'd like to know?"

Embarrassed, he backed off and looked down at his book. "No," he answered in a quiet voice. "I apologize, Christine. I violated your privacy."

She was silent for a moment then replied, "It's okay, Spock. I don't suppose there's such a thing as privacy here, living the way we do. It's just that I need to have some idea ... um ... well, if we ever ..." She shut up and looked away.

He had lifted his head and was staring at her, perplexed. "If we ever what?" he asked in a whisper, somehow knowing what her answer would be.

She swallowed, realizing she'd said too much to retreat from the subject. "Spock ... I do not want you to get the idea that I have ulterior motives or anything like that. I know that our history has been strained, but I'm trying to be realistic. You're a man and I'm a woman and we're alone here. I think it would be logical to assume that at some point in time we're going to find ourselves ... well, you know ... with ... urges that we need to ... act on."

"Indeed," he answered softly, unable to look at her directly. "That thought has also crossed my mind."

"Well ... when it does ... happen ..." she went on uncertainly, "the only form of ... birth control we're going to have is ... what used to be called the rhythm method. My knowledge of where I am in my monthly cycle. Whether I'm fertile or not."

"I see," he said quietly. "It had not occurred to me that we might face that problem. I had assumed that you received a periodic injection like other Human females."

She sighed remorsefully. "You only need that if you're having sex on a regular basis. I haven't had sex since ... well, since the night before Roger left on his mission. That was a _long_ time ago, believe me!"

She eyed him ruefully. "Come to think of it, I thought all senior officers were required to have a regular contraceptive injection themselves."

Spock looked down, his own face darkening in hue. "Vulcans are not required to... our reproductive..."

"Oh. Of course. I'm sorry, Spock. I forgot. I should have known that you're not like the others..." She trailed off and for a moment there was awkward silence between them.

Then Spock said softly, "I suppose the only logical course of action would be complete abstinence. No matter what ... urges, as you say, occur, we must deny them and keep control of ourselves. We seem to have no other choice."

She looked up at him then and her eyes held a subtle pain in their depths that surprised him. "Yes, I suppose that would be best," she murmured, but her eyes were saying just the opposite. Despite her words, there was a longing in her gaze that pulled at him. And he suddenly realized that, having made the pronouncement that there should be no physical relationship between them, he was beset with the sudden need for just that. He wanted her. _Now_.

With determination, he fought it down and took command of himself once more. "Perhaps you should return to your work and I shall return to mine," he suggested. She nodded and looked back to the carving she was doing, he returning to the Romulan manual. But he found it nearly impossible to concentrate on his translating for the rest of the evening, now incredibly aware of her just across the fire from him.

* * *

Spring drifted into summer and heat shimmered across the yellowing grasslands. Spock had found and translated the section in the survival guide that covered tanning leather ... and had been absolutely horrified to discover that the procedure involved soaking a hide in either urine or a soup made of brains and water in order to break down the tissues and make it pliable. Bad enough that it involved killing an animal and stripping off its skin, but this was so abominable to him that he simply could not deal with it.

Fortunately, Christine was less squeamish and, while feeling initially nauseated, undertook to learn the skill. Her first efforts weren't very successful, but gradually she improved until she was able to transform bloody, hairy pelts into supple, workable, lengths of leather. By this time she was also experimenting with making clothing, following memories of sewing techniques she'd learned as a girl. Once she got the hang of it, she began improvising.

That left, of course, the question of what to do with the carcasses of the animals they killed. Here they reached an impasse. While again Christine was pragmatic and even hard-nosed about it, insisting that the meat not be wasted but be cooked and eaten, Spock ran headlong into his cultural taboos and steadfastly refused to do so. Although he gradually became accustomed to the sight and smell of roasting meat, he would not touch it. More than once he got up and left the campfire, disappearing into the darkness until the odor had dissipated. Christine followed him once and found him sitting in the darkness on the little bluff above their campsite, breathing in the cool, sweet air that blew across the plains, cleansing his lungs of the scent he found so abhorrent.

But the grasslands were bountiful in their botanical harvest. The stranded couple learned where to find early ripening fruit, where to dig tubers and pick young greens, where to gather nuts and seeds and other plants that were edible. Spock subsisted on these, enough to nourish him, but not enough to provide any excess calories. Always slim, he grew even leaner, his muscles hard from the physical labor of their day to day existence. He often went shirtless as he worked in the day's heat and his skin grew deeply bronzed with a verdant patina that made him look like a cast statue come to life. And, as his deep black hair grew longer and began to brush his shoulders, he took to tying it back with a leather strip or holding it in place with a headband.

Christine changed as well. She'd always considered herself just a little bit on the plump side, but any excess fat she might have had melted away. She too became lean and hardened, tanned and strong. As her skills at leatherwork improved, she made herself a simple dress to replace the ragged uniform. And, as summer dragged on and her boots became much too hot to wear, she managed to cut moccasins and lace the pieces together with strips of rawhide. Then she tackled the job of making clothing for Spock, leggings and a breechclout and moccasins.

As the daily basics of survival began to grow easier to accomplish, Spock and Christine had time occasionally to walk together in the evening, out across the grassland, talking, sharing little triumphs or hardships of the day, learning of themselves and each other, beginning to grow close in the ways of a man and a woman.

An infrequent brush of fingers or exchanged smile brought them both delight but was quickly relegated to the realm of the forbidden. They had maintained the vows of psychological distance between themselves, but both were finding it harder and harder to do so. Their close lifestyle, so dependent upon one another for survival, working side by side during the day and then the nearness of the other at night, all combined with growing friendship to wear away at the self‑imposed barriers.

Spock especially was finding it difficult to remain detached from a growing attraction he felt for Christine. It somewhat alarmed and puzzled him, for he had maintained all his life a rigid Vulcan discipline against emotional involvement. It should have been simplicity itself to preserve the wall of disinterest he had built around himself. But as the weeks passed, he found himself stealing glances at Christine as she worked, or appreciating the curve of her hip or sound of her laughter. Her easy breathing at night and the sight of her stretched atop her blanket, clad only in a leather halter and loincloth, increased the sultry heat in the cave exponentially, building in him the desire to crawl to her side and stoke the heat into flame. He found the reactions of his body unsettling when he watched her this way, for his groin often tightened painfully into throbbing fullness, something he had not experienced for a very long time. Not since his last...

 _No_... Spock refused to acknowledge it. That was far in the future and he had simply allowed himself to drop his barriers. He would meditate and regain control of himself. It was essential. But as he turned to the wall and prepared to recite the Disciplines to himself, she sighed in her sleep and moaned slightly, and Spock had to clench his teeth together and force himself to begin the First Stricture.

* * *

They had been in their new home for three months when Spock returned one evening from the stream, bearing water in a water bag they had made from the cleaned and scrubbed stomach of an elk. He found Christine bent over her grinding stone laboriously milling grain into rough flour. Recently they had discovered how to make tough flat bread, gritty and unleavened but which vastly expanded their menu. She was having an exasperating time of it this evening because her hair kept escaping its tie and falling into her face. She would push it away with the back of her hand, but inevitably it returned to annoy her.

Spock smiled at her predicament and, setting down the water bag, said, "Here, let me..."

He moved around behind her and knelt at her back, then untied the leather strip that held her hair loosely in place and began combing through her unruly locks with his fingers, gently pulling it together. It had grown long and thick and curled around his fingers as he worked. Loving the way it felt as he smoothed his palms over it, he stroked through it again and again, gathering it into the gentle grip of one hand while retrieving errant strands with his other. Then, with careful movements, he divided it into three parts and began weaving it together into a braid. Christine had closed her eyes and leaned her head back, lost in the feel of his big warm hands caressing her hair, ever-so-gently tugging and manipulating it until she gave a little sound of contentment at his touch.

His hands faltered in their work and almost hesitantly, the fingers of his right hand came up to rest lightly against her temple. They moved against her skin, seeking out deliberate positions, and then pressed gently against pulse points and nerves.

Without preamble, Christine abruptly sucked in a startled breath because he was _there_ — hovering at the edge of her mind, nearly inside her, brushing her consciousness with the searing heat of his own psyche. Weakened by this unexpected contact, she sank back against his body, further opening the link between them and, for a second, for the length of a heartbeat, they were One. His intense maleness surrounded her, took her, and she exploded in a pulsating jolt such as she'd never known, as if lightning had struck her full on.

Before she could react, he pulled away, mentally and physically, breaking the link. With a shuddering breath, she came back to the present and gulped to wet her dry throat, unable to speak.

Behind her, she could feel Spock's hands shaking as he hurriedly tied the braid with the leather string, then he rose to his feet and fled the cave into the night, not looking back at her.

Christine could only kneel numbly before her grinding stone, cold and very empty with his warm presence gone from behind her.

It took her a long time to still the furious pounding of her heart.

* * *

As the sun spread its final light of the day across the land, Christine climbed up the gentle slope of the bluff to where Spock was standing, gazing out across the grasslands. It had been a week since their unsettling encounter and both had done their best to act as if nothing had happened. It had not been an entirely successful charade, however, for both were well aware of the crackling sexual tension that now existed between them. It was like static electricity in hot dry air, a spark waiting to discharge if they got too close.

Perhaps it was just the weather causing it, Christine thought. To the west, thunderheads were boiling into the sullen sky, their bases bruised and menacing, lightning playing through their rapidly expanding crowns. Underneath, the setting sun was shooting out molten rays that highlighted the cobbled mammatus formations spreading across the bottoms of the clouds. Her grandmother had called it "tornado sky", Christine recalled, because it signaled the incredible updrafts and turbulence inside the storm that could often descend into a devastating cyclone.

It was terrible to watch and yet beautiful and fascinating, and Spock was facing into the breeze that was beginning to blow across the prairie. The golden light was painting his features and naked torso with a sheen of warmth, and his hair, loose about his shoulders, ruffled in the breath of wind stirring across the hilltop. Clad in his buckskin breeches and loincloth, she couldn't help thinking that he looked like an ancient warrior of the American plains, proud and fierce. Bathed in the radiant light, he was an apparition from the past, both from her world and his, for she imagined that his Vulcan ancestors appeared much the same.

Then he turned and caught sight of her and the expression on his face made her falter for a second. There was something in his dark eyes that warned her not to touch him. His gaze was intense and hungry, longing, then he turned his attention back to the storm and she joined him, careful to keep a few inches away.

As Christine scanned the horizon, she commented, "It's magnificent, isn't it?"

"Yes," he answered, his eyes on the closest thunderhead. "We have storms on Vulcan, but nothing like this."

She looked back and saw what he was talking about. The massive thunderhead was beginning to darken the prairie with its spreading bulk, its flat belly black with unshed rain, its barely leashed power palpable. As they watched, lightning struck downward and a few seconds later the clap of thunder reached them, sharp and ominous.

"Do you think it will hit us?" Christine asked.

"Highly probable," Spock answered. "We should seek shelter quite soon."

Thunder rumbled again, louder this time, and if they watched closely they could see the crown of the cumulus tower roiling and building higher into the upper atmosphere, breaking through the thermal cap that kept lesser clouds contained. The top began to spread out in the high winds of the stratosphere, stretching into an anvil that raced out ahead of the main body of the storm. Closer now, lightning cracked in a brilliant streak from the cloud base and in a second the thunder of its strike reached them again.

Enthralled by the sight of nature at its most powerful, Christine unknowingly edged closer to Spock, watching nervously as the sun sank below the hills and the thunderstorm continued to build, the fading sunlight staining its underside the color of blood. A wide rain shaft now slanted from the cloud base and lightning played through the thunderhead's billowing body, its thunder increasing in volume and intensity.

Wind rippled suddenly across the grassland like a wave on a wide green ocean and washed over the watchers with delicious coolness, bringing with it the clean sharp scent of rain and ozone.

"Oh, smell that!" Christine said, lifting her face to the breeze. "It's wonderful!"

"The gust front off the storm," Spock replied, his hair whipping about his cheeks.

The wind picked up in strength, buffeting them. As Christine staggered slightly, Spock reached instinctively to steady her and simultaneously a sudden bolt of lightning and immediate crash of thunder made her jump in startled reaction, leaping against him in fright.

It was all the spark it took to unleash the electricity sizzling between them. The contact of her skin against his, the adrenalin pumping through her veins, and the emotional spike that flashed through her neural system blasted open the incipient link that had formed between them over the past weeks.

Suddenly both of them _knew_ – the time for pretending was over. The time they had spoken of so long ago, the time they had been avoiding, had come. Whatever had made them hesitate to come together, whatever had made a barrier between them, was gone and the only place she wanted to be was here in his arms, surrounded by the savage strength barely held in check by a veneer of civilization.

Slipping her hands up around his back, she returned his intent gaze as her heart pounded wildly, her eyes saying all that was necessary. The wind lashed her unbound hair across her face and he absently reached up to smooth it away, leaving his broad palm resting against her cheek, his lips parting slightly as if he meant to speak but couldn't. She could feel the urgency in his touch, radiating out through his whole body, and the last threads of doubt broke as she lifted her face to him.

He met her halfway, their lips coming together in a kiss of surrender on both their parts. Suddenly everything was right, complete, between them. He crushed her against him, devouring her mouth as if he were starving, and she returned the hunger for him full measure. Thunder rumbled loudly overhead, a growl of celebration and command.

Clutching each other desperately, the two scarcely noticed as the first fat drops of rain began to fall, breaking apart only when another boom of thunder shook the air.

"Come on," Spock said, taking her by the hand and urging her back the way she had come. "We must get into shelter."

They ran, no match for the speed and power of the rain. By the time they reached the cave mouth, both of them were soaked and Christine was laughing as they gained the sanctuary of their home. Spock wedged the wooden gate into place to block the rain, then turned in the semi‑darkness to find that Christine was standing at the back of the cave beside her bedding and had already begun to unlace the wet dress. Her back to him, she let it drop to the floor and reached up to shake out the blonde mass of her hair, allowing it to tumble down her naked back.

He stood transfixed at the sight of her pale, feminine form in the half-light of the cave, the breadth of her shoulders and the concave line of her waist, the soft contours of her hips and the long clean length of her legs. Before he knew what was happening, he was moving toward her, intent in his purpose, his heart pounding as if it would explode through his side.

"Christine," he whispered roughly and she turned, looking up at him, her eyes full of love for him, ready and eager. In the next instant she was in his arms, their lips melded together in a fiery kiss. His strong arms threatened to crush her but she didn't care. She was only aware of his tongue dueling against hers, of his bare chest pressing against her breasts, of the growing hardness throbbing against her welcoming softness.

Outside the storm descended in all its fury, rain pummeling down in sheets as thunder crashed and lightning cracked across the sky. They were oblivious to it, consumed only by the storm raging between them. As they kissed and their hands roved over muscles and limbs, somehow he managed to rid himself of his clothing, then together they sank down onto her blanket and their lips found each other once more, roaming, exploring, tasting.

Neither had the desire for play or teasing, at least not this first time. They both had waited too long already, and she opened herself to receive him, an invitation he accepted immediately. With assuredness and strength, he hefted himself into place above her and, as thunder shook the ground with its primordial force, he plunged his hardened length inside her.

Christine cried out and clutched at him, lifting her hips to meet his, and he breathlessly drew back and then buried himself in her again. She wrapped her legs around his hips and dug her nails into his back, a rapturous moan escaping her lips, sending him into a delirium of desire such as he'd never experienced. It undid him, the unbridled frenzy of sensation setting him free. To the accompaniment of the driving rain outside their shelter, he bent his face into her neck and began to thrust hard and fast into her hot depths, each impact forcing a startled gasp from her lungs. It took only moments before he lost any semblance of control and felt his whole gut twist in a massive orgasm. He froze above her, paralyzed as his body exploded into hers, like fire erupting through every pore, and could not suppress the groan of pain and ecstasy that tore itself out of his chest. Christine hung onto him harder and gave a long, gasping cry in return.

It seemed to last an eternity, then he caught his breath and began pumping reflexively into her again. He was still hard and hungry, not at all satiated by this first time and, judging by her reaction, neither was she. The second time, he managed to regain some ragged mastery of his body, the insane urgency dulled a bit, and took longer, varying his movements to give her more pleasure, bringing her to a peak several times before he finally found that he could hold back no longer. Shifting, he plunged deep into her again and quickly brought himself to another explosive conclusion.

This time, he held his place longer, savoring the exquisite internal quivers of her fading rapture, before finally lifting himself from her and rolling shakily to one side. For a moment they lay there, breathing heavily, then he sat up and reached far over her, managing to snag his own blanket, and covered them both with its warmth. The rain had cooled the temperature inside the cave and he pulled her lush body into the heat of his embrace.

"I didn't expect this," she whispered, smiling, her blue eyes dreamy and soft.

"Nor I," he answered, caressing her cheek with his fingertips. "But there is a great deal to be said for spontaneity."

"Mmmm ... that's for sure..." she sighed and snuggled against him, closing her eyes. As she dozed off, she murmured, "There's a great deal to be said for thunderstorms, too. They bring out a very interesting side of you!"

* * *

It was still raining heavily when Christine opened her eyes and she immediately missed Spock's presence by her side. Lifting her head, she saw that he was kneeling beside the fire, adding wood and building it into a blaze.

As he stood and turned back to her, she nearly caught her breath at the stunning image he presented. He was naked and the firelight limned his figure in a coppery light, his black hair hanging about his shoulders and painted with the dancing illumination of the flames. He was the utter primitive, First Man, strong and primeval and untamed. And she wanted him with the same kind of fierce wildness that he now seemed to possess.

He slipped back underneath the blanket and drew her into his arms and she melted against him as he kissed her, his tongue probing in between her lips to tease and fence with her own. But then he pulled back somewhat and he was again her beloved Spock, peering at her with soft affection.

"It was getting cold in here," he said.

"There must be _some_ way that we can warm up," she smiled back at him, giving her pelvis a little grind against his. She was rewarded by an immediate twitch of attentiveness.

"Undoubtedly," he agreed softly. "Shall I make tea for you?"

She shook her head and rubbed her hips against his once more. "I don't want any tea."

"Soup, then? I believe there is some broth remaining that I could reheat for you."

"No, not soup either." She began moving her pelvis rhythmically against the wonderful hardness beginning to be evident between them.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm at a loss," he answered as seriously as he could. "It is raining much too hard to heat enough water outside for a bath. Do you want to go and stand by the fire?"

She slid one leg over his thigh and pulled him against her. "I want to make our own fire," she murmured and brought her lips to his once more. The playful banter stopped as they devoted their energies to generating that fire.

He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, and she straddled his hips, loving the feel of his pulsing heat against her sensitive womanhood. Bent over him, she continued to trade kisses with him, then she straightened, lightly raking her nails down over his chest.

Underneath her, he shuddered and caught his breath, then reached up to cup her full breasts, stroking and massaging them until the nipples stood hard and high. Pulling her back down to him, he raised his head and flicked his tongue over one, finally sucking it into his mouth and working it with a roughness that expertly stayed just below the threshold of pain. Then he released it and moved to the other. Christine was gasping with ecstasy by the time he finished.

As he lay back, she leaned over and did to him very nearly the same thing, licking and tonguing his nipples erect. Then she did him one better. Moving lower, she trailed her kisses and teasing tongue down the line of hair across his stomach and into his navel. His flesh quivered beneath her mouth and she made a note of his ticklish spots, moving still farther down his abdomen.

As she neared the object of her search, she felt him tense suddenly and understood that he might not be experienced in what she wanted to do next. Looking up, she gazed at him and asked softly, "Shall I stop?"

He wet his lips and then shook his head. "No. If it pleases you, it pleases me." His steadfast expression encouraged her and she smiled and bent back to her task.

The only times she had ever seen him naked had been in totally clinical situations, when he was lying unconscious on an operating table and even then his body had been quickly draped. She had always been utterly professional about it, never allowing herself to see him in any other way while in her charge.

It was much different now. Bending over his rigid masculinity, breathing in his hot musky scent, knowing that soon all of her senses would be in play, Christine allowed herself the total sexual release that she had scarcely known existed within her. Closing her eyes lazily, she trailed the tip of her tongue up the length of his erection, tasting him, feeling his heat, hearing his gasping intake of breath as she swirled her tongue over the sensitive head.

He muttered something in Vulcan, softly, causing her to open her eyes and look at him. "What did you say?"

He shook his head slightly, his eyes closed tight. "Nothing," he answered in a strained voice. "An oath. An invocation of the Goddess."

She smiled and bent to cover his hot shaft with light kisses and an occasional nip to tease him. Nibbling her way back to the top, she suddenly changed her tactics, clutching him snugly about the base and taking as much as she could into her mouth.

His whole body jerked and he reflexively gripped the blanket beneath him. As she worked him against the roof of her mouth, his hips began to pump up below her and he groaned loudly. "Oh — Christine! Please stop! _Now_ _!"_

She did so at once, sitting up. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, Spock!"

He was panting for breath, then suddenly reached down and grasped her upper arms, pulling her atop him and crushing her lips to his in a devouring kiss. Quickly he rolled them both over and mounted her, lunging into her with frantic thrusts. Almost at once, he was over the edge, filling her with liquid fire. Then he collapsed on her, spent.

She peered up at him, worried, and slipped her fingers through the ebony strands hanging across his face, tucking them back behind the pointed tip of one ear. "Spock?" she asked again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He shook his head and gazed down at her, still breathing heavily. "You did not hurt me. On the contrary, I was on the verge of hurting _you_. When you took me in your mouth, you aroused me almost beyond my ability to control myself. If I hadn't stopped you, I would have ... well, I would have injured you seriously."

He closed his eyes once more and rested his forehead against her neck. "I fear this, Christine. I should not be this sensitive."

"Perhaps because it's been so long since—"

"No! A Vulcan may be celibate the majority of his life without any adverse reactions. It is only when..." He halted and against her skin she felt his brows bunch together in pain. "No! It is not yet time! Not for years yet!"

Christine's heart constricted and she felt her throat tighten until she could scarcely breathe. "Oh, my God..." she whispered and slipped her arms around him to hold him tighter, realizing that the heat radiating from his body was more than could be accounted for by either exertion or the hearthfire.

* * *

Spock, attired once more in leggings and loincloth, moved to the far side of the cave, kneeling down on a fur spread before the hearth. His fingers steepled before his face, he sank deep into meditation, seeking to find within himself the answers that he needed.

Christine dressed as well, pulling on a leather gown she'd made. She'd been experimenting with beading it in tiny bones and bright pebbles she'd been collecting, but the design wasn't finished yet. Nevertheless, her other clothing and shoes were wet and laid out to dry by the fire along with those Spock had worn. She was careful not to disturb him, quietly heating up the leftover broth and adding a handful of crumpled, dried meat to it. Once it was hot, she took the bowl back to her sleeping place, sipping the mixture as she turned over the events that had occurred.

His heightened sexuality should have alerted her, but she had been too besotted by his attention to notice anything amiss. She had simply thought that at long last he was beginning to love her, letting down his emotional guard as his feeling for her grew. Now to discover that it was _this_ ... that what he'd been feeling was nothing more than the sudden increase in testosterone output that presaged _pon farr_. He didn't want _her_. He wanted her _body_. He needed her for sex in order to survive.

Christine blinked back tears as she forced herself to finish her breakfast. Very well. She wouldn't deny him. It would be tantamount to murder if she refused to allow him sexual release. Then a chill went over her as a more frightening thought leaped up — what if he refused to be denied and took her anyway? There wasn't another female to choose from. He didn't have any choice but to use her for his needs. And there wasn't any hope of evading him. Vulcans were twice as strong and fast as humans in any case. A fully aroused Vulcan male in the heat of _pon farr_ would be three times so. Maybe more.

Christine looked across at the man with whom she'd been living these past months, on whom she'd depended for survival and companionship and protection. The man who had made glorious love to her the evening before and who had sent her soaring to realms of ecstasy she'd never known. How could she believe that he could harm her? That the fervor and emotion she'd tasted in his kisses and felt in his arms had been nothing more than rampaging hormones?

She shook her head in denial. No, she _couldn't_ believe that. She _knew_ Spock, had grown to understand his every expression and nuance. If nothing else, she knew without doubt that his was the kindest, more caring soul she'd ever met. If he turned to her in his time of need, it was because he trusted her as much as she trusted him.

She wouldn't betray that trust. She had _felt_ his love for her radiating from his mind to hers and knew that she would do anything he asked of her, anything he needed. Willingly. Gladly. _'Til death do us part_...

Setting her bowl down, Christine rose and quietly moved to the other side of the fire, kneeling down to face him. Gently, she covered his clasped hands with both of hers and he opened his eyes to look at her, his gaze dark and intense, locking onto hers. Nothing needed to be said but she said it anyway. Reaching up to caress his fevered cheek, she whispered the word that made them one.

"Husband."

* * *

Spock left at dawn the next morning to seek seclusion and meditate as the blood fever increased within him. The rain had stopped and the storm clouds moved on to the east, laying a mosaic of crimsons and oranges across the rising sun. _Red sky at morning, sailor take warning_... the woman thought with a chill as she watched Spock disappear over the hill.

He was gone for two days. Christine tried not to worry about him and went about her daily chores, working on the hides stretched on frames beside their dwelling, preparing food for both short term and long term consumption, hauling water up from the stream where it ran swift and clean over rocks. But still she felt his absence keenly, constantly expecting him to be there.

Indeed, as time wore on, she realized that she _did_ have the faint sense that he was somewhere near. She could almost feel him. It was not like a telepathic bond but just a sensation that, if she turned around, he would be somewhere close. But whenever she did give in and look for him, he was nowhere to be seen.

That sense of disquiet increased throughout the second day, making her jittery, as if something was sneaking up behind her, ready to pounce. As night came on, she ate a light supper and finally stretched out on her blanket, tense, almost too nervous to sleep. Something was wrong but she couldn't figure out what. Every sound in the night made her jump slightly and search the darkness for movement.

There was none. The sounds were only the ones she'd long grown used to hearing ... the barking and braying of the herds of little horse-like creatures out on the grasslands, the high pitched peep of a night flyer similar to a bat, the far off sound of the animals that they'd dubbed "hooters" which had frightened them so their first evening here. They'd turned out to be nothing more than lemurs, their huge eyes adapted for night hunting and their loud calls as territorial challenges to one another. The first time Spock had referred to them as hooters, Christine had burst into laughter, then had to explain that the word had once been used as a derogatory synonym for large breasts.

The memory of his expression made her smile now and she relaxed more. She settled down, willing herself to go to sleep.

Christine had no idea how long she'd slept when she suddenly jerked awake to find Spock on his hands and knees crouching over her. He looked terrible, his hair disarrayed, his face flushed, his eyes abnormally bright.

Before she could speak, he leaned down and captured her mouth in a rough, hungry kiss. He was burning up with fever, nearly scorching her with his touch. He forced his tongue between her lips, his hands groping simultaneously down her body to find the hem of her gown. Fending him off, she found that he had already stripped off his clothing and was naked.

She managed to shove him away. "Spock! What—"

"Now, Christine!" he said in a painful, strained voice. "I need you _now_!"

"Wait a minute! Let me get this off then," she answered, still groggy from sleep, and proceeded to pull the soft leather dress over her head, aware that he was shaking in his effort to control himself even that long.

As soon as she had tossed it aside, he pushed her onto her back and moved atop her. Without preamble, he forced her legs apart but she again stopped him. "No, Spock! I'm not ready. I'll tear without lubrication. You have to get me ready."

He squeezed his eyes shut in genuine pain. " _I cannot wait, Christine_!" he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, you can," she whispered and gently caressed his hot cheek. "I'll help you."

Her voice and touch were like cooling water and he opened his eyes to stare down at her. Then, still poised to enter her, he abruptly moved his hands to her face, locking his fingertips instinctively into the proper positions. Immediately she felt his strong presence inside her head and she jerked away reflexively, so strange was the sensation.

He held her firmly. _My mind to your mind, t'hy'la. My thoughts to your thoughts_ , his voice purred throughout her consciousness, rich as molasses, deep as night. It soothed her, comforted her, was familiar and blotted out any unpleasantness. _Join fully with me now, my beloved. Enter into me as I enter into you now. Wrap yourself in me and let us be one being, one heart, one mind_.

Anything outside of this world of their entwined psyches had ceased to be. Her soul melted into golden ribbon like butter, her sun brightness mixing and blending with his night darkness. Nothing was hidden between them, nothing. She knew his pain and his joys, his rage at injustices and the sweet soaring of triumph, the hatreds he had concealed and the loves he had dared not show either.

She shared with him all that was within herself and opened to him the endless longing she had felt for him, the fantasies she had dreamed, the all too brief moments when she had cherished a look in her direction, a faint touch as they worked together, the sound of his voice, the sight of his face.

Time had no meaning here. They journeyed to Earth and Vulcan and a hundred other worlds, reliving and sharing moments and places that had pleased them...

...she looked down at two little feet, scooting through and wiggling toes in soft hot red sand and lifted her eyes to an orange sky and black volcanic mountains. He climbed up the face of a high snow-bright gypsum dune and looked across a sea of white sands sparkling under a New Mexico moon. She savored the melting creaminess of _a'qa'sii_ against her tongue on the shores of a copper ocean and it instantly became the flavorful burst of lime sherbet in his mouth as blue waves and sea froth washed around his ankles and feet...

...together they floated in the vast blackness watching the roiling vapors of the Orion Nebula build into solar system-sized knots of multi-colored gases, condensing over the ages into new worlds and stars. They flew with the avians of Kalendria 2, possessing their own spans of opalescent wings that took them high above the jungles and aerie-like cities. Deep they dove into the oceans of Palanka, to the coral abodes of the Tk'ok-i, the gentle intelligent cetoids that did indeed seem more like the legendary merfolk of Earth than the dolphinesque creatures from which they were descended...

Finally, they found themselves where they wished to be most, snuggled together beside the remnants of their burnt-out hearthfire, arms still holding one another, faces still close, apart physically but still bonded mentally into one soul. _Parted from me but never parted ... Never and always touching and touched_...

Christine noted absently that, outside, the sun was setting as the day waned. Hadn't it been full night when Spock had awakened her? How much time had passed? she wondered muzzily. But then he stirred in his sleep and pulled her a little closer against him and she drifted back into exhausted slumber, content and secure in his arms.

* * *

Christine awakened to soft kisses brushing her eyelids. As she stirred and opened her eyes, she saw that Spock was bending over her, watching her with gentleness and affection in his features. It was morning and he looked as if he'd been up for some time already. Clean, dressed, his long black hair pulled back and tied into a ponytail, he peered at her smiling and asked softly, "How are you feeling?"

She started to move and her whole body screamed in protest. She lay back down with a grimace. "Awful! Did you see the speeder that hit me?"

He smiled again and answered, "Here, drink some of this tea. It will make you feel better." He supported her in raising up enough to sip from the cup he brought to her lips. It was hot and a little bitter, although she could taste honey in it, sweetening the mixture. When she'd had several swallows, he laid her back down and said seriously, "It is always bad afterwards. If we were on Vulcan, you would have women to care for you until you recover but I'm afraid you will have to make do with me."

She blinked up at him. "What happened, Spock?"

He was silent for a few seconds then answered, " _Pon farr_ happened. It is bad enough for Vulcans but for a human to be forced to undergo it..."

"I wasn't forced," she whispered.

"Nevertheless... I regret that I injured you," he responded softly, trailing a fingertip down her cheek. "I did everything I could during our Bonding to insure that you would not feel the pain but I fear that I was not very successful in controlling myself."

She reached up to cup his face in her hands. "It was the most magical thing I've ever experienced. I just wish I'd been able to fully experience our wedding night."

He shook his head. "That was _not_ our wedding night, _t'hy'la_. And you would not have been able to endure it fully awake. Even a Vulcan woman is shielded from the ravages of her mate's _pon farr_ by a deep mind meld. The Mating is violent and prolonged. Until the blood fever abates, it is best for the woman that she be protected from the abuses being heaped upon her. It is why a mating couple is almost never left alone. The male's friends stand by in case he becomes too violent and the woman's friends are there to care for her afterward. That is why I feared this time so much. Because we are alone here and I could not be certain how it would affect us."

"You said 'prolonged'," Christine commented, remembering the seeming erratic passage of time. "How long..."

"Three days," he whispered. "Approximately 54 hours all told. The fever finally burned itself out yesterday about sundown and we simply slept throughout last night."

"Three days..." she murmured. "No wonder I feel like I'm going to explode! Help me up. I've got to pee!"

He assisted her to her feet and then, with a supporting arm around her back, walked her to their inside toilet. It was a small offshoot room they'd discovered at the back of the cave, tiny and with a crack in the floor that showed a deeper cavern room below. The sound of water told of an underground stream that gurgled away to some hidden spot, taking wastes with it. Their normal "bathroom" was an overhang on the swiftly flowing creek outside, downstream of their camp and hidden by a copse of bushes, the rush of water serving as an adequate flush sani. But in bad weather or times of urgency, the little cave room proved convenient.

He left her so that she could have some privacy, then waited until she called him again and aided her shaky return to the main cave room. He didn't tell her that he had carried her, still unconscious in the meld, to relieve herself every few hours when he was temporarily sated and had to attend to bodily functions himself. It was better that he spared her the embarrassment of it.

She didn't quite make it back before her legs gave out beneath her and he quickly swung her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way. She clung to his neck, burying her face in his shoulder, loving the strength and security she felt there. Once he had gently deposited her on her bed — _their_ bed now — he said softly, "You rest now. I'm going to heat some water to bathe you and then cook some grain."

Over the next few days, she slowly recovered as Spock cared for her with gentleness and dedication. She felt badly bruised internally and bled when she got up. She wondered just had much damage she'd actually sustained but had no way of knowing for sure. He prepared her hot compresses to ease the pain and did what he could, but only at night, when he held her and opened their Bond fully with his touch, did she feel complete relief.

She cried a little sometimes, feeling a bit of irrational anger at him for hurting her, but then she shoved that part of her back down. He'd had very little control over what had happened and had honestly shielded her as much as he was able. Late one evening, sitting in the dark with the fire burning low, he had managed with a great deal of hesitation and reluctance to explain why it had been so difficult.

"Vulcans are humanoids, Christine," he said softly, self-consciously poking the embers with a stick and focusing his gaze there. "But they are not Humans. Because I am half-Human and because I live and work among Humans, I am regarded, consciously or subconsciously, as being as Human as they. Superficially that is an apt comparison, because Vulcans and Humans are much alike, physiologically. But there are certain things about Vulcans that the vast majority of Humans do not know, particularly about our ... sex lives and ... other things."

She remained silent, not wanting to interrupt him. He considered his words for a while longer, still poking the coals. "There are ... physiological differences ... that occur during _pon_ _farr_. To the male, I mean." He took a shuddering breath and looked away. "To the ... the male ... organ," he said with difficulty. Again he swallowed and, her heart pounding, she wondered if he was going to continue. Finally he did. " _Pon farr_ generates a nearly insatiable need to mate in both the male and female. He becomes capable of an enormous amount sexual activity and output of sperm and she is stimulated to ovulate. Evolution has insured that this once-in-seven-year chance to reproduce is not wasted. In order that the maximum amount of sperm can be delivered to the vicinity of the ovum, the mating pair are sometimes ... um ... incapable of ... separating ... uh ... once he ... uh...." He gulped and trailed off, too distressed to say anymore.

"I think I get the picture," she spoke up, then felt great sympathy for him. What he was describing was nearly an animal-like coupling. No wonder the Vulcans had hidden this part of their nature. It must mortify these proud, logical, rational people to be reduced to their basest, ugliest levels in order to assure the survival of their species.

Christine moved over and put her arms around his slumped shoulders, leaning her head against him. "It's all right now, Spock," she said softly, projecting her love to him through their bond. "Everything is going to be all right now."

He turned and caught her in his embrace, holding her tightly, and she could feel the sadness that permeated him. Still holding her close, he said in a gentle, pain-filled voice, "There's something else, Christine ... that you need to know."

He paused and seemed to steel himself. "You're pregnant. I guarantee it."

* * *

Within a week's time, Christine had recovered and life had resumed its usual pace. She had been at first shocked and panic-stricken at Spock's pronouncement, then had laughed at him. Vulcans and Humans didn't work that way, she assured him. It would take genetic manipulation to produce a baby. He simply said, "We'll see," and said no more about it.

It hadn't seemed that summer could get any hotter, but the days settled into a long endless string of blistering days and sultry nights. The plains turned yellow as far as the eye could see and the sky overhead was a dull, cloudless blue. Insects sang continuously in the trees and hovered over the grasses in little clouds.

The creek's flow dwindled, but it never stopped altogether and herds of _mesohippus_ and other types of animals began to come down to the pond to drink, the prairie waterholes having dried up. It also meant that the predators that followed the herds came too, forcing Spock and Christine to be doubly alert when outside the cave. Unfortunately, the heat made the cave as hot as an oven and they spent as little time inside as they could. At night, they built a campfire to ward off hunters and slept under the stars near the cave mouth.

This morning had dawned with oppressive heat already lying on the land like a batting of heavy cotton wool and by mid-day heat haze shimmered across the grasslands. Even Spock found the extreme warmth uncomfortable as he caught up his bow and quiver of arrows, stalking off to hunt as afternoon temperatures climbed, hoping to make a kill while the herds were lethargic and sleepy. He had resigned himself to the fact that they must hunt to survive, but he still refused to break his taboos and eat the meat that Christine prepared.

No matter how hot it became, of course, there were chores to be performed and one of them was preparing for the inevitable winter to come. It seemed ludicrous to worry about cold weather on a day when the mercury must have been topping 110, but if she waited until it was cold, then it would be too late. So Christine sat in the shade and worked away at a hide stretched on a frame, a fur from a big carnivore resembling a bear. It was an old male who had lost a fight with a rival and died soon afterwards from his wounds. They'd found it before the carcass had been more than a day or so old and had salvaged the pelt.

The meat wasn't good, but they couldn't afford to waste a windfall such as the hide. But it had been a massive job curing it and Christine was still trying to get it scraped down to her satisfaction on one side, leaving the fur on the other. Finally, though, the heat defeated her and, tired of alternating between wiping sweat out of her eyes with the backs of her hands and trying to scrape tissue off the pelt, she threw down her bone scraping tool and announced to no one in particular that she was going for a swim.

Walking down to the water's edge, she untied the leather halter top she wore and tossed it aside, then did likewise with the loincloth that served as the bottom part of the outfit. It was outrageously skimpy but also cool in the hot weather and besides, she smiled, Spock seemed to like seeing her in it.

Naked, she waded into the pond and then struck out swimming toward the little trickle of the waterfall at the far end. The water was wonderfully cool and invigorating. She lolled about lazily, then swam some more, and finally pulled herself up onto a flat, sun-warmed rock. The stone was almost hot from the sun but the little wavelets that washed up against it were cool and teasing. Enjoying the dichotomy of sensations, she unbound her hair and shook it out. It had grown halfway down her back now and was mostly brown as her natural color had replaced the dyed blonde. Still there was enough natural bleaching from the sun that the colors blended fairly well.

She lounged back on the rock, turning her face up and enjoying a few moments of full sun. Not too much; she didn't want to burn. When the temperature became too much, she slipped back into the water and swam back near the waterfall and into the shade of the little cliff there. Surfacing, she pushed her wet hair back out of her face, enjoying the spray on her face as much as she had enjoyed the sun a moment before.

She knew Spock was behind her an instant before his hands slipped around her to cup her breasts. It was an effect of their Bond; she usually knew if he were near and so she didn't jump in shock at his touch. Instead, she leaned back against him, luxuriating in the kiss he pressed against the side of her neck as he covered her breasts with his broad hands and massaged them gently. "How long had you been watching me?" she asked.

"Six point three seven minutes," he responded, tickling her earlobe with the tip of his tongue. Her nipples had risen up taut and firm against his palms and he teased them still further, stroking them lightly. "All the time you were sitting on the rock. I was reminded of a water nymph from your Greek mythology."

She laughed throatily. "Pretty big nymph! Mmmm...." She shivered against him as one of his hands trailed down her stomach. "You deliberately shielded from me, didn't you?"

"Yes. I didn't want to alert you to my presence. I was enjoying the view very much." He turned her slightly and his fingers lightly slipped lower, to the soft, pillowy mound at the juncture of her legs. As he did so, she lifted her face up to him and he leaned down to kiss her.

His mouth moving on hers, his fingers found the warm cleft he sought and he slid his fingertips into her welcoming recesses. She moaned and turned more fully toward him, opening her legs a bit more for him and simultaneously reaching down to gently grasp the hard shaft pressing into her thigh. For a few moments, they stood half-submerged in the water, stroking each other and locked in a deepening kiss.

Then she suddenly pulled away, laughing, and said, "Catch me!" and pushed away from him, swimming toward the shore. He launched after her but, not being as strong a swimmer as she, he lagged behind. She managed to make the rock first and was in the process of drawing herself up out of the water when he caught her. Ignoring her squeal, he grabbed her and pulled her back. She squirmed and play-fought him for a moment, then he had her wrapped in his arms and silenced with another long, hungry kiss. She melted against him and returned it in full.

When their lips drew apart, she murmured, "You're not still ... um ..."

"No. I am fully in control," he responded and kissed her again. His hands went down to her waist and then lower to cup her buttocks and he lifted her up as easily as if she were a child, the buoyancy of the water partially supporting her. Her legs went around his slim hips and her arms around his neck as she kissed him again.

As his lips moved sensuously over hers, he allowed her body to slide lower against his and in a moment she felt his hot shaft nudge into her. He did it gently, aware that she might still be sore, but she murmured against his mouth, "It's all right," and she felt him relax a little and continue the movement. In seconds, he had completed the sweet impalement and began to move slowly within her.

She matched his gentle thrusts with her own hips and soon the rhythm and force had increased. The Bond opened between them and they lost themselves in the timeless cadence of love. She felt his approaching climax through the mindbond and it triggered hers. The rapture hit them simultaneously and she clung to him tightly as he gasped and shuddered compulsively.

When he pulled away from her, she unclasped her legs from around him and settled lower into the water, leaning into him, cheek on his chest. "That is so much nicer than the rough stuff," she sighed.

"Indeed," he answered, his breathing still heavy.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"No. I didn't plan on being gone very long."

She straightened and took his hand, leading him back toward shore. "Any luck?"

"Just a hare. Nothing else was stirring and the herds are keeping their distance." They waded out and she dressed in her clothing while he donned his breechclout, all that he'd been wearing besides his moccasins. "I think that pelt you're working on has the horses spooked."

"Probably," she agreed. "Lord knows I can smell it and if I can, they can." In fact, it had stunk so badly until she soaked it that she could hardly stand to handle it. She had staked the frame way out under the trees so the smell wouldn't get into their living quarters. Hopefully, the washings and airing would make it easier to live with by the time they needed it.

At their campsite, Spock sank down into lotus seat and they had a simple meal of the tortillas they had grilled on a flat cooking stone that morning and a mixture of cold boiled grain and cherry-like fruit mixed with it. She broke off a piece of jerky and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"Do you suppose they're still looking for us?" she asked softly after a while.

Spock's gaze turned far away as well. "It is nearly seven months since we were abducted," he answered. "I would assume we've been declared dead by now."

"No. The Captain wouldn't give up hope," Christine replied. "I think he's still trying to find us."

"Perhaps, but he is a practical man and he has responsibilities to the ship and the rest of his crew as well." Seeing that she was still staring wistfully into the distance, Spock reached over and took his wife's hand, holding it tight enough that she was forced to turn her attention to him. His face was completely serious, firm.

"Christine, I want you to listen to me and hear what I say. Do not go on hoping that we will miraculously be rescued. Wherever this planet is, it is not within Federation space. I have deduced that by studying the star patterns since we have been here. I do not recognize any of them. I suspect we are deep within Romulan territory, which means that no Federation vessel will risk war searching for us. Tal left us here with the intent that we die alone, with absolutely no contact with anyone else. That means that this planet must be remote from even the Romulan shipping lanes. We are stranded here, Christine. Just you and me and our children—"

"I am not preg—"

"If any," he interrupted her, forestalling an argument. "I know that secretly there has always been that hope within you, but you must turn loose of that dream."

She stared stubbornly ahead, determined not to give in to tears.

He peered at her and said softly, "I'm sorry, Christine. But we must be realistic."

She pulled her hand out of his and got to her feet. "I'm not feeling very good all of a sudden," she said. "I think I'm going to go lie down in the shade and see if I can get my stomach to settle down. I shouldn't have eaten that jerky."

Spock watched as she walked away stiffly, her back rigid with anger. Sighing, he went back to his lunch.

He had scarcely taken a bite when Christine's outraged scream had him vaulting to his feet and racing in her direction, his hunting spear in his hand. It took him only seconds to reach her and he found her standing beside the stretching frame with the big hide she'd been working on, brandishing a fairly large branch at what looked like a cross between a crocodile and an iguana. The lizard was about five feet long, greenish in color and presently gulping down a section of hide that it had ripped off the framework.

"Get out of here!" Christine screamed at it, fiercely poking the branch at it. Spock joined her, jabbing the lizard with the flint point lashed to his spear.

The animal's dull brain eventually registered that it should move on and it shuffled down the creek bank and they heard it plot into the water.

As Spock made sure that there weren't more around, Christine dropped the branch and inspected the damage to the hide. "After all my hard work, look at that! It's ruined!"

"I would hardly deem it ruined," Spock answered. "There is a rather large rip in it, but it should still be usable." He looked toward the creek. "I am more concerned about the reptile. I have not seen those before and it seems to have taken up residence near our water supply. Had I known that anything like that was lurking nearby, I would never have allowed you to swim. I'm afraid that we must go back to standing guard whenever either one of us bathes or fetches water. It is obviously a carnivore and this drought has made it hungry enough to eat something like that hide."

"Do you think it will attack us?" she asked, worried now.

"I do not know. It reminds me of a Terran monitor lizard or Komodo dragon and they will certainly take a Human. I want you armed at all times, Christine, and more alert than ever. I fear that things will get worse until such times as the rains come again and the herds move back out onto the plains." He put a protective arm around her shoulders. "We have been extraordinarily lucky this summer in not having to deal with many predators, but that luck may be changing now."

* * *

The new routine complicated their food gathering, for Spock was now apprehensive about leaving Christine by herself. He had no doubt that she could defend herself adequately, but it was too easy for one person to be ambushed by a predator and overwhelmed. They went back to wearing their knives all the time and Spock was never without the stout spear he had made and tipped with a razor-edged flint point. They had both become too complacent by the idyllic surroundings of their little valley but now they found themselves very aware of the predators that stalked the herds and presumably themselves.

The sweltering days passed by quietly, however, and they went on with their lives, continuing in their preparations for winter. Gradually, the weather changed with afternoon thunder showers popping up to deluge the area with rain and then dissipate quickly. The temperature began to drop slightly as well, mostly at night, and they moved back into the cave to sleep. The days seemed as hot as ever but one day Christine noticed the woods around the valley was taking on the slightest tinge of yellow instead of true green and she also realized that the pelts of the animals they killed were beginning to be thicker and more lush. Autumn was coming on.

It was also about this time that she began to be aware of changes in herself. Her breasts were tender and she seemed to be tired all the time. There were foods that she simply couldn't bear any longer and others she would have killed for, had they been available. She would have sold her soul for a platter of roast chicken and a few slices of cheddar cheese. And chocolate. She would have sold _Spock's_ soul for just one semi-sweet dark chocolate candy bar!

Once aware of these things, she looked for other signs and to her dismay found them. She wasn't ignorant and, as a medical professional, she certainly recognized her symptoms but she still couldn't deal with the reality of the situation. And, perversely, she refused to acknowledge it because she didn't want to give Spock the satisfaction of being right. But she could tell by the way he watched her that he knew. Oh, yes, he knew.

Irritated, she strode away from camp and up to the bluff that lay across the creek from the camp. From here they had a panoramic view of the surrounding twenty miles or so. Spock was absorbed in knapping out flint arrow points and didn't noticed she was gone. That suited her just fine; she needed a little time to herself.

Up on the bluff, she slowly turned and surveyed the land. Far off on the northern horizon a bank of dark blue clouds spread out low and menacing. She could see lightning occasionally fork down but it was so far off that only the faintest mumble of thunder reached her. To the east the line of the creek emerged from the heavier woodlands, themselves a red and gold blanket. Off to the south and west, the yellow plains rolled out of sight, _mesohippus_ and bison-like animals and something like antelope grazing in immense herds. Very, very far away, beyond the horizon, she could just barely make out the snow-covered tops of a range of mountains.

And in all that immense wilderness, as far as the eye could see, there was not a single sign of man, save for their tiny encampment below her.

With a shattering suddenness that took her breath away, that enormous, empty vastness crashed down on her with a fear such as she'd never known. They were alone. Two insignificant, frail people in that unfathomable desolation!

 _She was alone and pregnant and helpless without any hope of rescue!_ What if there were complications? What if she needed a caesarian? What if Spock were killed and she were left to fend for herself? What if she died in childbirth and her baby was left alive? What if—

Christine began to hyperventilate as full-blown panic set in and she felt a keening wail begin to rise from her throat. Pressing her fists to her mouth, she spun in irrational terror, seeking help from somewhere, _anywhere_ _!!_

Spock came charging up the hill, wild-eyed, spear in hand, ready to do battle with whatever was attacking her … then faltered as he saw her uninjured but apparently frightened out of her wits.

"What is it? What happened?" he demanded.

As her gaze locked on him, tears flooded up and she flew into his arms, burying her face in his chest and sobbing with an utter hopelessness born of finally, _finally_ accepting the terrible, unspeakable truth of their situation. Bewildered, he had no idea what to do except hold her as grief and fear and despair poured out of her in massive, lung-wrenching wails.

Finally she was so drained that there was nothing left to give and she sagged against him. He continued to hold her, still not understanding what had triggered this, but feeling the full force of her emotions through their bondlink. Stroking her hair, he said gently, "We'll be all right, _t'hy'la_. Please do not cry anymore."

"I want to go _home_ ," she sniffed plaintively. "I want a hot bath and a good book and some hot cocoa with marshmallows. I want a hamburger and fries. I want my hair done. I want to put on my old bathrobe and lay back listening to music with the lights turned low." She sniffed again and the last tears leaked down her face as her voice dropped to a whisper and she clung tighter to him. "Oh, Spock ... I want my mother with me when our baby is born."

Saddened that he could give her none of these things, he bent his head and pressed his cheek into her hair, projecting as much warmth and comfort as he could through their bond.

Christine let her eyes drift open as she peered over his shoulder into the distance at the advancing storm front bearing down from the north. Something about it didn't look right and that eventually penetrated her mental miasma. There was a haziness about it that didn't look like rain. And the low rumble of thunder seemed to be going on longer than thunder should.

She lifted her head from Spock's shoulder and looked harder at the panorama on the horizon. "Is that dust?" she asked almost rhetorically and he turned to look at the distant line of gray as well.

And then Christine's heart froze and she clutched at him in a new kind of terror. "Oh, my God — it's smoke!" And then they could see the panicked herds stampeding in their direction.

Spock paused a moment longer to survey the horizon. An orange line was visible now for two or three miles in both directions and grayish white smoke was beginning to billow into the air. "Lightning must have started it," he said. "We've got to salvage what we can! Hurry!"

Rushing down to their campsite, both frantically retrieved tools, utensils, raw materials — anything that they could get into the cave before the stampede and then the grass fire reached them. Spock snatched up their water bags and took off at a run toward the creek. For a second, she wondered what he was doing when she was so frantically trying to save their few belongings and then she understood. The herds were going to come thundering right through their water hole, churning it into a mud pit. It might be days before they had drinkable water again.

The reverberation of thousands of hooves was growing louder and she could smell the distinctive smell of burning grass now, too. The ground beneath her feet began to shake with the impact of the stampede and she looked frantically for Spock.

Then he came running awkwardly back up the trail, burdened by the full waterskins. She started toward him, but he yelled, "Get inside!! Now!!"

An antelope came soaring over the top of the bluff and landed clumsily on the banks of the creek, recovered and ran. Then another and another hurtled over, scrambling for a foothold. Spock dodged the animals and got to the cave mouth just as the main body poured over and down the hill, heedless of anything but escaping the fire.

Frantically, Christine reached out and grabbed him, yanking him to safety. He slammed the door guard into place and both wedged their bodies against it as a river of bleating, panting, terrified animals poured through the valley. The dust choked their throats and set them both coughing harshly, and then this was thickened still further by clouds of smoke that roiled and swirled down into the little valley. Pushed to still further panic, the animal herds swarmed down the banks of the creek and pond, floundering in the deeper water, scrambling over one another in order to get away, drowning their companions in their frantic flight. Thousands of hooves and pads churned the creek into a quagmire and more animals bogged down there, perishing as the ones behind them leaped onto their backs and crushed them.

It seemed as if it went on for hours to the two people huddled in the little cave though it was over in only a few minutes, but then came the hissing and snapping of the fire line as it raced through the paper dry grass, the heat causing it to burst into flames as the line advanced. Embers and sparks sailed out ahead of the flames, further spreading the fire and it jumped the water line of the creek, the grass there flashing into flame as well, continuing to spread at astonishing speed. The door guard began to smoke as embers kindled the dry wood, but Spock beat it out before it could catch.

And then all was quiet except for the thrashing and groans of the dying animals left behind. Gradually the heavier smoke cleared, although the smell of burned grass permeated the valley. Still coughing, their eyes streaming, Spock and Christine gingerly emerged from their shelter to survey the damage.

The aftermath was devastating, shocking both of them. The fire had swept through quickly, leaving the plains black and smoldering. Trees had generally not caught fire but in a number of places, low bushes were still burning.

Their campsite was wrecked, everything that had been in the path of the stampede trampled into the dirt and ash. The hard fought-for hide was buried somewhere in the muck, the stretching frame utterly destroyed. Food that they had been drying, tools and weapons that Spock had been working on, firewood stacked in a dry spot ... It was all gone. They had lost nearly everything.

The creek was unrecognizable, now only a muddy swamp, with over a dozen dead or dying antelope mired there. In the pond, bodies floated and on the other shore, an antelope managed to pull itself out onto the bank, one of its forelegs dangling uselessly. Higher up, a calf bleated frantically for its mother, trotting back and forth along the bank in search of her.

Christine sagged against Spock and brought a hand up to her mouth, tears beginning to pour down her face. She hadn't thought she had any left, but they came anyway. Her knees gave out and she sank down into a limp heap, burying her face in her hands. And then the world began to spin around her.

* * *

Christine awoke to find herself lying on her blanket inside the cave. For a moment, she wondered what she was doing taking a nap in the middle of the day, then the smell of grass smoke brought it all back to her with a start. She raised her head, looking around for Spock — and found him sitting in the doorway of their home, his back to her. He had his forearms folded across his drawn up knees and was staring out across the devastation that had been their campsite. The defeated slump in his shoulders alarmed her almost as much as the disaster because she had never known Spock to give up on anything. Now it seemed that he had.

As she stirred and got to her feet, he looked around and hurriedly rose as well. "Christine! Are you all right? You have been unconscious for one point three four hours."

"I'm fine," she answered, surprising herself somewhat to discover that she felt better than she had in quite a while. The catharsis of the panic attack and then the terror of the stampede had purged her of wishful thinking and forlorn hope. What she felt now was clear-eyed, rational fortitude. And a fury that had replaced her despair with a determination that this planet was not going to beat her. She walked past Spock to stare out the opening.

"How much daylight do we have left?" she asked him.

"Approximately six hours. Why?"

"Then let's get to work," she responded flatly and started outside.

He didn't move. "Work? Christine, it may have escaped your notice but all of our work is destroyed," he answered.

Angry, she turned back and pinned him with a hard glare. "It may have escaped _your_ notice, Mr. Logic, but our work is just beginning," she snapped. "The first thing we've got to do is clear those dead animals out of here. Every scavenger for miles around is going to be here shortly and they're all going to be camping on our doorstep. They're showing up already!"

He looked up to where she gestured and saw that carrion birds were circling, some of them beginning to spiral down to alight on the dead antelopes.

Christine continued, "We're going to drag all those carcasses out onto the plains where the scavengers can get them. I don't want them rotting here under our noses."

Spock caught her arm and pulled her back to him, his face grim. "One thing first, though, Christine. You _do_ understand that you are pregnant, do you not?"

"Of course I do, Spock," she frowned. "What kind of idiot do you think I am? By this time, I'd be a fool if I kept denying it."

"Then you should not be dragging or lifting heavy loads. I do not want to risk your having a miscarriage," he said seriously.

"Neither do I," she replied, her gaze locked on his. "That's why you're going to be the mule in this operation. Let's get going."

For the rest of the day, the two of them worked up to their necks in mud, blood and gore. More than once, Christine excused herself for a moment, went to one side and vomited, but then she came back more determined than ever. Frequently, she had tears streaming down her face, but she never stopped. Spock barricaded himself behind rigid Vulcan control and worked with a fierceness that belied his anger and frustration.

Animals that were mired but alive and relatively unhurt, they freed and sent on their way to take their chances. Those that were injured and stuck in the mud were quickly killed with a knife slice across their throats. Together they captured the antelope with the broken leg and got it up onto the plains, then dispatched it as well, knowing that it had no hope of surviving. And they did the same with the calf, Christine sobbing brokenly even as she slit its throat. It was more humane than allowing it to be eaten alive by predators. But she huddled over the little body for a few minutes in her grief, then she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her face, and went back to helping Spock pull carcasses up to the carrion pile.

By the time it was dark, they were so weary that they could barely move. There was still work to be done, but predators and scavengers were already fighting over the carcasses and they were forced to retreat to safety. Spock gathered as much firewood as he could find and built a large fire to ward off hunters, but with so much food available for the taking, the two people weren't molested.

All night they listened to the roars, howls and squabbles of the feasting predators and with the morning light, they dragged themselves awake to pick up where they had left off.

First, they finished pulling the bloating carcasses out of the pond where they had drowned, hauling them up to the plains, then they began the hardest work — digging out the antelopes that had been trampled and bogged into the mud of the creek. With no shovels, they had to do it by hand with only a few primitive aids such as elk shoulder blades they had retrieved. By nightfall they still had not finished and once again were forced to retire to safety.

The second night was a replay of the first and they slept only because their exhaustion was total and they could not have stayed awake had they tried.

Late on the third day, they dragged the last of the carcasses to the dumping site. It had begun to decay and the smell sent Christine into a fit of retching that left her weak and dizzy. Spock didn't feel much better but managed to maintain control.

He helped her to her feet and supported her as they stood and looked back across their valley. From here they could see that the blackened plains were already beginning to show a tinge of green as new growth pushed up through the charred old grass. Below them, the creek continued to spill over the escarpment into the pond and the overflow was beginning to carve a new channel for itself through the quagmire, running down to the river.

Spock sighed wearily as he surveyed it all. "In a month's time, there will be no sign that anything happened here," he said.

She shook her head and leaned against him. "A month's time... Spock, it's autumn. Somehow we've got to replace what we lost. We have no idea how long we've got until winter or how long or severe the winter is going to be. I wish we'd been able to salvage some of that meat we hauled up here. It's just rotting too fast, though."

"I wish there were some way of preserving it for you other than wind drying," he agreed.

"Preserving it for _us_ ," she retorted, looking up at him. "What do you think _you're_ going to eat this winter? There wasn't enough plant foods for you to survive on _before_ the fire, let alone now."

He turned a stern gaze on her. "I won't eat meat, Christine. You know that."

"You will if that's all we've got!" she responded.

"I will _not_ eat meat," he repeated. "I cannot. It goes against every spiritual and moral fiber of my being. The idea sickens me." She glared and started to argue, but he forestalled her, changing the subject.

"But that's academic right now. Come ... I believe our pond is safe to swim in once more. We are both in dire need of a bath and I think we are both deserving of what you would call a 'break'."

She couldn't help smiling at that suggestion and, arms around each other, they started down the gentle slope to their home site.

* * *

With a fortitude based on the fact that they had no choice, they started all over again. In actuality, they were in better shape than when they'd first been marooned here because now they knew their surroundings and had acquired hard won skills. They had managed to rescue quite a bit of food and materials from the stampede and the fire, but still the fact that they no longer had a summer season before them hastened their efforts.

Spock was hesitant to leave Christine, but practicality overrode his apprehensions. They simply had to work separately in order to maximize their efforts and Christine assured him that she would not hesitate to defend herself with deadly force if necessary.

Spock believed her because she had changed following the disaster. She was more serious, grimmer. He'd known she was strong but he'd never suspected how much steel was in her backbone until now.

He'd commented on it one day, quoting Nietzsche: "That which does not kill me makes me stronger."

She'd shot back without missing a beat, "That which does not kill me better run damn fast!" and brandished the bloody knife she'd been using on the hare she'd been butchering. She wasn't smiling either and he shut up and didn't say any more.

So now, while he ranged further afield hunting, she replenished their firewood, laying in as much as she could transport for the coming winter. She tanned the hide of every animal he brought in, large or small, and stockpiled them in the back of the cave. She searched out, harvested and preserved as much plant food as she could find — grains, fruits, berries, nuts, water plants, tubers — anything that could be eaten or used for medicines.

On rainy days, she worked at carving bowls or struggled to teach herself to weave baskets. Her obsessive behavior worried Spock, for she drove herself with an almost manic determination. Finally, one evening, he'd had enough. She had been scraping away with a flint knife at a storage bowl, her hands trembling with fatigue, and she slipped and cut her finger.

"Damn it!" she exploded and stuck the injured finger into her mouth, sucking on it, tears coming to her eyes.

It was late and Spock had already gone to bed. He'd walked several miles that day in search of game and had returned empty-handed, tired and hungry. He'd eaten sparsely then lain down between the blankets.

Now, raising himself up on one elbow, he commanded, "Christine, come to bed!"

"I have to finish—"

"Tomorrow. You can finish it tomorrow. Right now, you need sleep and rest."

"We don't have enough—"

"We have enough. Must I incapacitate you with a nerve pinch in order to get you to rest?" He said it with a touch of humor, but he was completely serious underneath.

Christine looked around at him, realizing that he was right. She put down her tools and walked back to where he lay gazing up at her. In the flickering firelight, she undressed and lay down beside him, naked.

He was bare as well. They often slept this way now, not so much with sexual intentions but because it was more comfortable than sleeping in the sometimes grimy leathers and furs they had for clothing.

Tonight, she cuddled up with her back to him and he turned on his side and pulled her to him, spoon-fashion. He still found it somewhat unbelievable that this incredible woman was his, loving him, carrying his child. Never in his life would he have imagined such a thing and the circumstances that had brought them here would have been deemed a catastrophe by anyone. Now, after ten months of exile, he had to admit that, despite the hardships and uncertainties they faced daily, he was happier than at any time in his life. There were no pressures of maintaining the facade of the Invincible Vulcan, no need at the pretense of complete stoicism — indeed, when he was alone, more than once he had given vent to emotions that would have shocked Christine. Gradually, the walls he had built throughout his life were crumbling. There were only the two of them here and, through their Bonding, she already knew him more intimately than anyone else in his life.

Snuggling her closer, he slipped his hand down to her rounding abdomen and spread his broad palm and fingers across her skin. She put her hand over his, echoing back his loving touch.

"Can you feel it yet?" he asked softly.

"I feel a flutter sometimes," she answered. "I don't know if it's the baby or just morning sickness. That's almost gone, by the way. I'm into the second trimester now." He gently moved his hand over her stomach, caressing her. She was silent for a moment then asked, "Spock, how did you know?"

"Know?"

"That I'd become pregnant. I couldn't even tell for nearly two months."

"I felt it happen," he answered.

"What?"

"Well, my body perceived the moment of conception," he went on. "When conception occurs, the instant a sperm penetrates the ovum, a chemical change takes place in the female's body to prevent any other sperm from entering."

"I know that," she responded. "I'm a nurse, remember? Are you telling me that you knew when that happened?"

"My _body_ did. In Vulcans, once conception has occurred, the reason for the Mating is over. _Pon farr_ ends. My body detected the chemical change in your body and the hormone levels in my body altered at once. When I came out of _pon farr_ , I knew why."

"But what if I hadn't conceived? Would it have gone on until I did?"

"No. After a time, about five days, it would have ended. But the likelihood of your not conceiving was remote. After all, you triggered my _pon farr_."

She rolled over onto her back and stared at him, speechless. He went on, "You were ovulating. Subconsciously I already knew that you would be my mate when the time came and the pheromones your body began to produce set the Mating in motion. Consciously, I did not realize it or even what was happening until that night of the thunderstorm but my body did. It also knew when you were at the peak of your fertility, when it drove me to the point that I could wait no longer. And it knew when our joining was successful, when fertilization had occurred."

"This just boggles me, Spock," she admitted. "Do you mean to tell me that every time a Vulcan woman ovulates, her husband goes into _pon farr_? I don't see how you people get anything done if that's the case!"

"A Vulcan female ovulates only once every seven years. It is an evolutionary response to the harshness of the Vulcan climate. Seven years gave a female time to get her child well grown and able to fend for itself. It was at that time, too, that a girl child was often bonded over to a male. Once free of that child, the woman went into estrous once again and triggered _pon farr_ in her mate, thus starting the cycle over again. It has become inherent in our biological make up."

"But I'm not Vulcan," she reasoned. "If I could set you off by ovulating, why weren't you in _pon farr_ every month? And for that matter, with all the women on the ship, why weren't you affected?"

"On the ship, I was not attached to any of those women. They were not my mates. Also, I was betrothed to T'Pring at the time. My mating time was tied to hers. As for here ... I believe it was because our struggle to survive overrode the urge and I was not yet as fully attached to you as I have become."

She smiled and rolled over into his arms. "I'm attached to you, too, mister," she murmured and lifted her face up to his.

He had thought himself much too tired for the sort of response he felt, but during the kiss, he found that his body still had a mind of its own when it came to Christine Chapel.

* * *

Spock came back from hunting with an oddly pleased expression on his face. At first Christine thought it was because he had bagged an especially nice buck, its feet tied together with rawhide lacing and slung over Spock's shoulder for transport. It would have taken two humans to transport the animal, but the Vulcan did it easily alone.

However, after he had unshipped the deer and laid it at their butchering site, he still wore the knowing little smirk as he approached her. "I brought you something," he said.

Christine glanced at the animal, then back at her husband, puzzled. "He's a beauty, all right—"

"No. I brought you this." He held out a little leather pouch, its sides bulging.

Christine took it almost hesitantly, again looked into Spock's face to search for any clue, then turned her attention back to pulling open the drawstring of the pouch to reveal its contents.

The pouch held a handful of rocks. Whitish, translucent, dusty, crystalline rocks.

Uncomprehending, Christine stared at them, then shifted her gaze to Spock. He was smiling broadly now, waiting for her to get the joke. For a few long seconds, she didn't understand. And then suddenly she knew!

"Salt!! You found salt!!" she cried.

"He led me to it," Spock answered, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the dead buck. "Downstream, approximately two miles, the river cuts through an escarpment, much like ours, and it exposes an outcropping of salt. From the game trails, I surmise that it is a major lick."

"Do you realize what this means?" she demanded, her eyes shining.

"Indeed. We now have the means to preserve meat other than by making jerky. This will assure you a food supply adequate to last the winter."

She hesitated, not wishing to get into another futile argument with him. Instead, she asked, "When can we get started?"

He peered at her patiently. "Do you know how to salt cure meat?"

"Um ... well, no," she admitted.

"Then I suggest the logical course of action would be to study our Romulan survival manual and learn the correct method. We have time. The salt lick will be there when we are ready to use it. Meanwhile, this animal needs to be butchered and prepared and the hide started soaking in a tanning solution. Perhaps in a few days I can begin to bring back quantities of rock salt."

"I want to go with you," she said a little petulantly. "Two miles isn't that far to walk and I really do want to explore down river. I want to check out the plant life there and see if I can find something we can use."

"Logical. Provided you do not unduly tire yourself," he admonished her. "The child is becoming large now and you tend to overestimate your endurance."

Christine looked down at her belly. "Oh, Spock, I'm hardly showing! I'm only about five months. I feel great and I really do want to see what you found there. If I get tired walking, I'll rest. I promise."

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow at her. "That is not your habit," he answered. "You drive yourself much too hard and you know it."

She saw another argument coming and once more decided to avoid it. "All right, I'm a workaholic. I admit it. Come on, you get that buck hung up and I'll find the knives and whetstone. Then you can go down and have a swim while I do the dirty work. Honestly, if I'd known you were squeamish—"

"I am not squeamish, Christine. I simply find the task of butchering an animal violates every cultural taboo I have ever known—"

"Yeah. Sure. Right. Go take your swim, Mr. I-Can't-Stand-the-Sight-of-Guts—"

"In any case, I do not intend to swim. The water is too cold now—"

They walked away, hand in hand, their good-natured quarrel continuing the entire way.

* * *

Christine went with Spock back to the salt lick but, true to his prediction, she found that the walk was longer than she anticipated. By the time they arrived, she was already tired and he made her rest while he hacked out chunks of rock salt with an antler pick. The trip back seemed even longer and she was exhausted and short of breath by the time they reached their home. Thereafter, he was quite adamant that she would not make the trip again while pregnant. He absolutely would not allow her to risk losing the baby. She backed down, knowing he was right.

From that point on, she stayed at the cave and poured over the Romulan manual, painstakingly piecing together the bits of language she knew and trying to figure out exactly how to salt cure meat. Spock hiked back and forth every day for a week, lugging as much rock salt as he could carry in the hide pouches he had adapted for the purpose.

Christine found a hollow tree that would be suitable as a brine barrel and Spock spent an afternoon chopping it down with his crude flint-bladed axe, now fitted with a proper handle, and then dragging it back to the campsite. It was almost dark by the time he reached the cave.

Christine had supper waiting for him — flatbread cooked on a stone, a thick soup of lentils and tubers, and a selection of ripe fruits and nutmeats. She'd been gathering them diligently as the autumn progressed, trying to get as many as she could before the animals ate them all, but pickings were slim now.

What the grass fire hadn't destroyed was rapidly being taken by the wildlife in the area. The animals were feeding ravenously, piling on fat for the lean winter months.

Chapel wished they could do the same. She was eating adequately to keep herself nourished but Spock was not. He had pulled his shirt off once he was home and, as he sat cross‑legged by the fire and ate, Christine couldn't help but notice that he was no longer just slender. His tall framework now had not an ounce of excess weight and she could see the outline of his ribcage showing underneath his bronzed skin.

The nurse in her began to count over the various nutrients and vitamins he must be missing and she wondered if she might be able to slip meat into his diet somehow to supplement his protein intake...

Spock finished his meal and got to his feet, walking over to the doorway to peer out into the night. He stood pensively for a few moments, then commented, "The wind is up. I think we may be in for a change in the weather."

She joined him, watching the trees toss about in the blustery gusts and low clouds scud south, obscuring the moons. There was a chill in the air that made her shiver.

Spock noticed it and smiled at her. "Why don't you go to bed? I must bathe then I will join you."

"Oh, surely you're not going out _now_ to take a bath!"

"I do not propose to go to the pond," he assured her. "I am simply going to heat some water and wash myself here." He gestured to his torso, still powdered with tiny wood chips and grime. "I doubt that you would welcome me to bed if I came like _this_."

She laughed softly. "All right. There should be enough water in the water bags. We'll refill them in the morning."

She went back to their sleeping place, undressed, and snuggled beneath the furs that had begun to supplement their worn blankets. The nights were getting cold enough that extra coverings were needed. He set their gate into place and then draped a large hide over it, blocking the wind from entering.

From her vantage point in the shadows, Christine lay watching Spock go about preparing for his bath. He poured water into a stone bowl and set it near the fire, testing often to make sure that it didn't get too hot for comfort. When the temperature suited him, he pulled it away from the flames and stripped off his remaining clothing.

Christine's heart thudded a little harder at the sight of him. Gilded by the red-gold firelight, he squatted down and dipped a ragged square of blue cloth into the water, squeezing it out and then washing his face. It was part of what was left of her uniform. They had salvaged every bit of cloth they could but even the sturdy Starfleet issue clothing had eventually been reduced to tatters.

He bathed his arms and chest, his legs and his shoulders. She almost got up to help him with the awkward sections of his back that he couldn't reach, but he managed, dribbling water over his shoulders and letting it run down the corded muscles of his back. The rivulets glinted in the firelight as they cascaded down his spine and found their way into the intriguing valleys and crevasses of his buttocks.

Again her heart pounded and she found her gaze glued on the shapes and shadows of his body as he moved. He dropped one knee to the ground as he leaned forward to wet the cloth once more and this action brought into view the taut, heavy flesh suspended at the base of his abdomen. Even when at rest, he was impressive, full and well-formed, and she closed her eyes for a moment as the memory of him — the feel and smell and taste of him — jolted to the forefront of her mind.

He glanced in her direction, one eyebrow twitching upward, then returned to his bath, this time running the cloth over and around his manhood, deliberately casual in his actions, yet knowing she was watching him. He could sense her arousal through their mind link and it generated an answering pulse that throbbed through him. It centered in his groin and he felt the incipient excitement begin to build as the first tingling surge twitched beneath his fingers.

Nonchalantly, he finished his bath and thoroughly rinsed out the washcloth, hanging it to dry, and then he rose to his feet with a sinewy grace, panther-like, and walked toward her, the flickering firelight behind him rimming his figure with shining golden light. The sexual power he radiated was almost palpable and desire sang back and forth between them like the hum of electricity.

She pulled back the fur wrap for him and he stretched out beside her, turning so that he faced her and propped up on one elbow. Leaning over her, he brought his lips down onto hers, the kiss long and languorous, unhurried as his tongue explored her mouth and flicked delicately at the tip of her own tongue.

She ached to pull him into a deeper kiss, but he resisted, acutely aware of what he was doing. As he nuzzled and nibbled at her throat and ears, his hand moved down to softly caress one of her breasts. Pregnancy had swollen them even larger and caused her nipples to stay prominently erect all the time now. They were dark pink and the areolae around them raised slightly, tipping her exquisite breasts with the evidence of extreme sexual stimulation. It was only half an illusion, for her hormones in this stage of pregnancy had caused her breasts and genitals to engorge, so that she felt aroused a good deal of the time.

Softly, aware of its tenderness, he ran a fingertip over the turgid nipple, awakening to an even greater extent the nerve endings. He stroked the hot flesh lightly, trailing his fingers up the sides again and again to end with a little swirl at the tip before starting again.

Christine arched her back up and moaned, already so hungry for him that she wondered if she could stand it much longer. But he drew the delicious torture out, then bent over her breasts and exchanged his fingers for his tongue, tickling and licking and finally gently sucking at the swollen flesh.

Christine cried out involuntarily, but it was a cry of ecstasy, not pain. He was very, very careful not to hurt her as he worked for a long time over first one breast and then the other. Finally, almost writhing beneath him, she gasped, "Spock, please! I need you _now_ _!_ I'm going insane!"

He lifted his head, a little smile tilting the corners of his lips. "I need thee as well, my wife," he answered in a deep purr. "But the time is not yet here."

"I mean it! I can't stand it anymore!" She lifted her arms back over her head, tangling them in the spread of blonde-streaked hair arrayed around her. Her eyes closed, she was quivering.

He allowed his hand to leave her breast and travel down over the curve of her stomach. She was getting large now, her abdomen distended. For a moment, he stroked her then his fingertips continued on to the brush of hair at the junction of her thighs and slipped into the alluring cleft below.

At his touch, she cried out again and lifted her hips off the blanket, instinctively seeking to guide him to the entry she sought. Again, he held back, softly running his fingers up and down her flesh, driving her to a near convulsion of rapture. Then, when he judged that she was teetering on the very edge, he plunged a finger abruptly inside her and pumped away with shallow, forceful thrusts.

Christine screamed and clutched at the blanket beneath her as orgasm exploded within her, her hips again elevated to give him maximum penetration. Her emotional overload surged through the mindbond and washed over him like fire.

Achingly hard, her climax nearly undid him, but he mastered himself and raised his mental shields slightly to prevent another such wild backlash. As she panted and finally came down from her peak, he withdrew his finger and resumed the soft, maddening stroking of her pulsing womanhood. She shuddered beneath him, still half lost in the aftermath of her orgasm.

And now it was time. They were on the same level of arousal, perfectly matched to meet in the Joining. Shifting his position, he moved down between her legs and settled himself for entry, but then he hesitated, suddenly uncertain.

The soft rounded curve of her stomach stopped him— she was in no condition now for him to lie atop her, with her bearing his weight. It would injure her and endanger the child.

She understood at once and said, "Wait." Quickly she rearranged herself before him, getting onto her hands and knees, presenting her smooth buttocks. With a groan, he moved into place behind her, steadying her hips with his hands and setting himself into position, then took a deep breath, again seeking the control he needed. He did not want to hurt her or bring about too quick an end. He wanted this to be slow and deliberate, drawing her pleasure out as long as he could manage it.

With a deliberate thrust of his hips, he entered her but stopped and held his position, unmoving. The sensation was maddening and Christine gasped and instinctively pushed back, wanting him deeper. His hands on her hips held her in place and he didn't move for a long moment. Then he began to thrust shallowly, teasingly, until she was nearly sobbing from the incredible stimulation.

Her upper torso sank down onto her elbows, causing her buttocks to open a little wider, encouraging him to drive further into her. Sensing that she was ready for the next step, he complied, readjusting himself slightly. Gripping her more firmly, he abruptly lunged forward and his entire length slammed into her, hilt deep.

She cried out and clenched in reaction and again her ecstasy inundated his soul. It was too much for him to stand. Losing his last strand of control, he pumped frantically into her burning depths and exploded uncontrollably within her, unable to stifle his own involuntary cry.

It was the most intense sexual encounter they had ever experienced and both of them were completely drained as the climax began to languish. Spock leaned over her back and slipped his hands up around her torso, hugging her lightly, then, as his fading erection slid from her body, he gently tilted them both over onto their sides.

Nestling there, curled together in the furs, Christine entwined the fingers of one hand with his and brought his hand up to her lips. She kissed their joined fingers tenderly and whispered, "I love you, Spock. I never imagined being so in love with anyone in my life or being so happy in a place I thought I would hate."

He nuzzled his face into her hair and answered, "Nor I. A relationship like this one was beyond my comprehension. I have never known another woman such as you."

He kissed her shoulder softly and brought his hand down to cup her breast. It was simply a loving, intimate gesture, the possessive liberties a husband might take with his wife in the privacy of their bed, and she snuggled back against him in contentment. They were drifting off to sleep when Christine suddenly flinched and said, "Ooof!"

"What?!" Spock demanded, instantly alert.

But she laughed quietly and answered, "I think we woke someone up!"

She took his hand and guided it down to her belly, pressing his broad palm across a particular point. For a moment nothing happened, then he felt a hard little something nudge underneath his hand. Spock's eyebrows went up in surprise and amazement.

"He kicked!" he said.

"Oh, boy, did he!" Christine laughed in delight. "Or _she_ did."

The emotion that tore through Spock's soul caught him by surprise as the reality of Christine's pregnancy gripped him. It was the first time he had felt her baby move within her and suddenly it wasn't an abstract concept anymore. He felt a surge of joy and wonder begin to fill him and he pulled her back into his arms in an embrace of fierce tenderness. Then he said what he had been conditioned all his life not to say: "I love you, Christine. I love you."

* * *

Christine woke hunched back into the warmth of Spock's body. He, too, seemed to be clutching her unusually tight and she became aware that he was shivering slightly. As she raised her head, she noted that there was a pattering like rain against the hide covering over the doorway and then she noticed that, when she exhaled, her breath formed a little plume of fog.

No wonder Spock was shivering, she thought. It was _cold_ in here! She extracted herself from his embrace and snatched up another fur to wrap herself in, then she eased out of bed and went to stoke up the fire. While it blazed back up again, she went to the doorway and pulled back the hide a little to look out.

The blast of cold air and precipitation that met her caused her to jump back with a little squeak of surprise. Spock vaulted upright. "Christine! What is it?!"

"Brrrrrr!" she answered, hugging her fur tighter around her naked body and hurrying back to the warmth of their bed. "It's sleeting out there! I think winter just arrived! Move over — I'm freezing!"

She tossed her fur on top of their bed covers and then quickly slipped back in beside him. He took her in his arms and held her against him, rubbing her back and arms and draping one leg over hers to provide as much body heat as he could. Snuggling under his chin, she relished the attention.

"Mmmm ... that feels good," she smiled. Then she chuckled, "You're generating more heat than you think, you know."

"I know precisely how much heat I am generating," he murmured, his deep baritone a sensuous rumble that made her whole body prickle with anticipation. "After last night, I believe that the temperature between us has increased significantly."

She made a contented sound in agreement. Then she said, "Do you remember what you said following your _pon farr_? That the Mating had not been our wedding night? Well, I think we had it last night."

"Indeed. Although it has been approximately six months since the time of our Bonding, I believe that we truly consummated our marriage last night. Now, as never before, I truly feel that you are my wife, my _t'hy'la_ ... my beloved." He kissed her lips softly.

"Me, too," she whispered, gazing up at him with adoration in her soft blue eyes, reaching up to stroke his face and trail her fingertips down the curve of his ear. "I've loved you ever since I've known you, but I never knew everything that meant until now. I feel like we've become two halves of the same person."

He twitched up an eyebrow in amusement. "What is it that one of your religious books says? 'A man shall leave his mother and the two shall become as one'?"

"Something like that. It's from the Bible, but I don't remember the exact wording. I think Jesus said it."

"For an unmarried man, your Jesus was quite insightful regarding the relationship between men and women." Spock smiled wryly. "Almost Vulcan in some ways. The Teacher Tarak, in his writings, said, 'The woman you take as your wife must became as your hand or your eye, a part of you that you cherish and protect as you would a part of yourself.'"

Christine laughed. "You don't suppose he was quoting Christ, do you?"

"Hardly. He predated Jesus by nearly 3,000 years. I should say that it was the other way around," Spock smiled back.

Christine decided that they'd had enough philosophy for the time being and pulled him closer, bringing his lips back to hers. "I don't really feel like a Sunday school lesson right now, Spock. It doesn't go with what I have in mind."

"Indeed?" He complied without further argument, his tongue slipping between her parted lips and his hands sliding down to caress her firm, smooth hips. By the time he rolled over onto his back and she moved atop him, they had forgotten all about the sleet and wind and cold outside their snug haven.

* * *

Winter arrived with a vengeance and with it the beginnings of times harder than any they'd known since their arrival on the planet. The sleet turned into snow and that became a blizzard that trapped them in their little cave for four days. They had food and water and wood stored within easy reach, and they had anticipated the need for sanitary facilities by slightly enlarging the opening in the floor of the little offshoot at the back of the main cave. Powdered lime that they had laboriously ground down from limestone served to keep the odor down but they only used their "indoor plumbing" when absolutely necessary. The blizzard made it necessary.

The storm passed, leaving behind it a cloudless blue sky, intense cold, and a drastically altered landscape. Their world had been transformed in more ways than one. The herds that had grazed on the plains around them all summer and fall had sensed the changing of the seasons and already migrated south to warmer areas. Most of the ones that were left had either sought out burrows and other sanctuaries for hibernation or only showed themselves occasionally.

Spock's hunting forays over the next weeks became longer and more difficult and, more often than not, he came back empty-handed. The game he found was small and elusive but he brought back enough for Christine, although just barely.

As the child within her continued to grow, Spock made sure that Christine had adequate nourishment, even if it meant giving up his own ration for her. She protested loudly when he began to skip meals, knowing that he could ill afford it, but he consistently won the day by pointing out that she must look to the welfare of their baby. Reluctantly, she would accept the food and eat, all the while training a worried eye on her husband.

He was more than thin now. He was gaunt. And still he absolutely refused to eat the dried or salted meat that she pressed him to take. His Vulcan strength and fortitude kept him going.

There came a day, a month or more after the blizzard, when even their stores of preserved meat began to run low and Spock determined that he must find and kill an animal large enough to give Christine an adequate supply of food for at least a month. The game he had hunted out on the plains was gone but he had noticed during his hunting trips that deep in the forest the elk were still here.

They weren't elk, of course, but Christine called them that because they resembled the magnificent wapiti of Earth's Alaskan and Canadian forests. A bull stood about six feet high at the shoulder and was crowned with a wicked set of antlers that he used to good advantage against rival bulls during the fall rut.

Spock and Christine had heard their bugling challenges and once had witnessed a battle between two huge males. It had impressed on them just how formidable and dangerous these animals could be.

But now Spock prepared his gear and food enough for two days, determined that he would bag and bring home one of the big deer-like animals.

"I wish you wouldn't go," Christine said, afraid for both him and herself.

He checked again the full quiver of arrows and bow, his knife and hunting spear and then pulled on the hooded knee-length fur tunic that Christine had made for him during the autumn months. Worn over warm breeches and tall fur-lined leather mukluks, he felt able to withstand the snowy landscape.

"I promise you that I will not stay out more than one night. If I do not find game within that time, I will come back and try again in a few days. But you _must_ have the meat an elk will provide, Christine. This is something I _must_ do."

He donned his hunting equipment and pack, pulled on his fur mittens and picked up the spear, ready to set out. Then he paused at the expression she was attempting to keep from letting him see and he felt the warmth of his love for her wash over him.

Leaning down, he kissed her soundly and opened the mindlink between them a bit more. As he lifted his lips from hers, he touched her face and said softly, "I will be with you, _t'hy'la_. Do you not feel my mind within yours?"

"Yes," she answered shakily.

"This is what it means ... 'parted from me and never parted'," he whispered. "You will know that I am safe and well. There is no need to worry."

She smiled with trembling lips. "Just be careful," she said.

He kissed her again then turned to go. Fitting on his snowshoes, Spock started off toward the thick line of trees that lay to the east.

Christine watched him go, finally allowing the tears to roll down her face. "And what if we _are_ parted?" she whispered aloud as she watched his figure grow smaller in the distance. "What if I stop feeling you there in my mind? What then?"

* * *

The bull elk snorted and stamped one front foot in warning, staring hard and unblinking straight at where Spock lay. The Vulcan didn't move, hoping that the animal would eventually decide he was simply a rock or some other harmless object. But the elk was having no part of it. He could smell Spock and knew he was there, although the scent was unfamiliar and in the processes of his animal mind, he could not identify and categorize this new scent. But instinct told him that there was danger involved with it.

Behind him, the cows and calves of the small elk herd moved restlessly, waiting for their leader to give them the signal to either flee or return to scraping snow off grassy patches.

Spock wasn't after the bull or one of the cows. His target was a half-grown calf, an animal still as big as a pony but considerably more manageable than one of the adult animals. He had been stalking the herd for most of the afternoon and this was as close as he had managed to get. But he needed to be closer and downwind. It was going to take more time to maneuver, especially now that the bull had picked up his scent.

The cold breeze ruffled the fur of Spock's clothing and the elk's nostrils flared even wider. He snorted again and lowered his head in a threat display, shaking the rack of antlers and pawing the snow-covered ground restlessly.

* _I'm dead_ *, Spock thought in his direction. * _I am a harmless carcass. Safety... peace... threat gone..._ * They weren't really coherent thoughts but impressions that he hoped the animal would pick up on.

Finally it seemed to be working for the bull slowly raised his head and there wasn't such a hard, dangerous look in his eyes as before. He still stood for a very long time, staring at Spock's immobile figure sprawled in the snow, then finally he threw up his head and uttered a deep grunting noise. The cows and calves relaxed and the bull turned away, too, ushering his band a bit deeper into the woods.

Spock blew out his breath and closed his eyes. It had been a close thing. The bull could either have attacked him or could have sent the herd running. As the animals went back to their search for food in the frozen forest, Spock moved cautiously, sidling carefully with as little motion and sound as possible. Once or twice the bull looked back in Spock's direction, but the man halted instantly and continued to send soothing thoughts.

He'd come farther than he intended but, once he picked up the trail, he felt that he must pursue it. He couldn't afford to pass up the opportunity. Now it was mid-afternoon and he knew he might only have about two more hours of daylight. He felt the need to hurry, but this was countered by the equally strong need to be cautious and not spook the herd. He continued his stalk.

At last he had worked his way around to the downwind side of the herd and the breeze brought their musky scent to him. The cows and calves were nibbling at grass uncovered by their scraping hooves or were tearing at bark on the trees, trying to get at the more succulent wood underneath.

The calf Spock had targeted moved into range and quietly the Vulcan nocked an arrow onto his bowstring. The flint-tipped shaft was crude but as straight and smooth as he could make it, fletched with the gray-brown feathers of a predatory bird of the woods. As he drew, the braided sinews of the bowstring protested slightly, stiff with the cold, but held their tensile strength as he paused, waiting for the right moment, the right second.

Abruptly he released and the arrow sped with a singing zip and thunked solidly into the calf's ribcage. The calf gave a compulsive leap and bawl of terror and the entire herd took flight, stampeding deeper into the woods.

Spock leapt up and ran after them, not needing the cumbersome snowshoes here in the lighter snow cover on the forest floor. He followed them for nearly a mile before the trail of blood on the snow began to show that the calf was weakening. He slowed to a trot, becoming winded, his breath puffing out in white plumes each time he exhaled.

Then, in a clearing ahead, he saw them — the calf lying crumpled and its anxious mother standing over it. The rest of the elk were nowhere to be seen.

Cautiously he approached, spear in hand, and was ready when the cow charged him, huffing in alarm and fury. She was not as large as a bull but still stood a good five feet at the shoulder and was solid muscle.

Thankfully she didn't sport a rack or he would have been in serious trouble. As it was, he had to contend with her slashing front hooves and the sheer bulk of outraged motherhood.

He faced her with the desperation of a hunter who had no intention of surrendering his kill and finally his ferocity overwhelmed her own. The cow, torn between defending her fallen calf and heeding her own "flight" instinct, chose the latter and turned with a whining grunt and trotted off into the trees, her distress obvious.

Spock leaned on his spear and spent the next few moments catching his breath and regaining his strength. It had been a far tougher hunt than he had anticipated, but now he went to examine the calf. It was dead, the stump of his arrow still protruding from its side, the main shaft having broken off sometime during its unsuccessful escape.

Quickly, Spock drew his knife, the steel hunting blade he'd gotten from the Romulans, and gutted the animal with grim efficiency. Hot blood gushed out onto his hands and steamed in the cold air as he removed the viscera and entrails. Ordinarily, he would have saved all he could, but he had nearly 400 pounds of meat to transport and he only intended to take what he could handle.

The sun was beginning to set by the time he had the calf's body trussed and loaded onto a crude travois that he had constructed. He would have to pull it himself but it was the only way to get a kill this size back to the cave. He wanted out of the woods before dark, too, and planned to camp out in the open where he could build a large fire and protect both himself and his kill.

He'd almost made it out onto the plain when there came a mournful howl drifting from the forest behind him. He hurried to get his prize out into the open and finally reached the smooth white expanse of the snow-covered prairie and a place where he had cached enough wood for a fire.

His hands were trembling from cold and exhaustion as he pulled one of the Romulan firestarters from his pack and set his kindling alight. The blaze was small and feeble, the wood just a bit too damp to catch well.

Another, closer howl made Spock jerk his head up in the direction he had come. A dozen low gray shapes were emerging from the forest and, with a sick feeling, Spock knew that the hunter had become the hunted.

Hurriedly Spock fed more tinder to the small fire and his heart leaped as the blaze did likewise. Keeping a constant check on the shapes advancing across the snow, he piled more wood on the flames until it was roaring at his back. Then he turned and quickly caught up his bow and faced the animals bounding toward him.

He'd seen them before, fighting over kills or carcasses out on the plains, but neither he nor Christine had a convenient name to give them. They looked like nothing from either his planet or hers. Long-legged, deep-chested and sleek in the summer, they now sported thick coats of gray fur and were vaguely canid in conformation, if one gave them a quick glimpse. A closer examination dispelled that impression.

They looked like some vastly ancient ancestor of mammalian carnivores ... something like a bear, something like a hyena, something like a wolf, but not really resembling any of them. Long slim heads sported a muzzle with not canine teeth but razor-sharp cutting blades along the jaws and large triangular incisors in the front of the mouth, as if a rodent had filed its big front teeth to points. The feet were large and padded, ideal for either running on snow or loping across endless miles of prairie, with retractable claws like a cat and an especially wicked grasping thumb claw that was pulled up out of the way until put into use.

Small hard eyes burned in deep sockets, glowing now in the moonlight that flooded the scene. They were utterly nightmarish and something in Spock's mind dubbed them werewolves. It was not a logical decision but somehow the name fit these creatures. As they got closer, he was able to count them. There were eleven in the pack and they were unerringly following the blood trail in the snow straight for him. As they neared him and the fire, the wolves spread out to trot around the perimeter of the firelight, looking him over. He could hear their deep huffing and see the plumes of fog that they exhaled on every breath. Here in the darkness, they now resembled stocky, oversized timber wolves and it was only when they got closer that he could see their hideous faces and heads.

Spock swiveled and tried to keep all of them in sight at once, holding his bow ready with an arrow nocked. One of the animals suddenly made a lunge toward him and Spock countered with lightning speed, pulling and releasing the arrow almost before he had consciously realized what he was doing. He was already setting another arrow in place as the first one _thwacked!_ into the wolf's shoulder, knocking the animal backwards into the snow.

The wolf screeched and thrashed, twisting and snapping at the alien thing biting it so deeply. Still yelping, it limped away from the main pack. Two pack members followed it, curious, and the injured wolf reflexively sank its teeth into the nose of one that had bent to sniff it. The second wolf shrieked and then attacked, the two animals suddenly in a maelstrom of slashing teeth and flying blood, punctuated by screams and growls.

The commotion gave Spock a few minutes respite because it distracted the rest of the pack, some of them attempting to join in the punishment of the injured wolf and others simply circling and giving voice to unearthly yips and cries.

It didn't take long before the injured wolf was lying dead between the front legs of the second. The victor stood over it for a long minute, hair bristling all along its spine, before it gradually calmed down and then moved off to lick its own wounds. The rest of the pack converged on the mutilated body of the first, sniffing, licking blood and quarreling. Then one of them seized the carcass and started dragging it away. That generated another fight as the hungry animals pounced and battled over the corpse of their dead brother.

It was sickening and made the hair rise on the back of Spock's neck, but he was grateful for it all the same. Maybe, just maybe, they would go away and leave him alone.

It was a forlorn hope, however. While a few of the pack members did indeed occupy themselves over ripping chunks of meat from the corpse, the rest resumed circling Spock's campfire, eyeing both him and the elk carcass lying still trussed on the travois.

And so it went as the long, cold night dragged on. Spock killed four of them before they became wise to the weapon he was using and would quickly fade back into the darkness just outside of the firelight. He could see their eyes glowing and blinking at him, but it didn't give him enough of a target to shoot at and he could not afford to waste his dwindling supply of arrows. The starlight reflecting off the snow would occasionally show him a slinking shadow but he held off firing.

He didn't dare sleep or even let down his guard. They could be on him in seconds and thus he spent the night on his feet, ever vigilant, keeping his fire burning. Fatigue nearly overcame him not long before dawn and he dared to sink down onto one knee, warily watching the eyes that ringed his campfire. They were waiting out there, waiting for an opportunity, watchful and alert.

The stress of being constantly on guard was wearing him down, his innate Vulcan strength eroded from the lack of nourishment he had been subjected to and the long walk and hunt. He wished he could sleep. Just for a few minutes. That's all it would take to refresh him. Just a few minutes...

He jerked his head up to find one pair of the eyes much closer, the vague form of their owner nearly within the ring of firelight. At the same instant Spock yanked the bow into position, the beast pounced, bowling him over backwards and knocking the bow from his hand. The Vulcan scrambled away from the creature with a speed born of utter terror, groping desperately for the handle of his hunting spear.

His hand encountered the heavy, smoothed shaft and he brought it up one-handed, awkwardly smashing the spear handle against the side of the animal's face. The wolf yipped and jerked back, giving Spock just enough time to get the other hand on the spear shaft and swing another crashing blow against the wolf's jaw.

It fell back, growling in pain, and rejoined the circle of forms that were even closer now. For a moment, Spock lay panting, trying to get his heart slowed, then got to his feet, clutching the spear, keeping the flint tip ready. Carefully retrieving his bow, he saw that the arrow was broken, leaving him with only three more in his quiver. There were still six wolves pacing back and forth at the edge of his firelight.

Intensely alert from the surge of adrenalin that had flashed through his system, Spock made a decision and drew one of his arrows from the quiver, setting it into place on the bowstring. He had to make every shot a killing one now. He had to even the odds.

With cold efficiency, he picked his target and raised his bow, pulling the sinew bowstring back against his cheek. The seconds ticked by and became a minute, then another as man and beasts stared at one another with steel-edged appraisal. Finally, the one that had attacked Spock grew bolder and took a step into the pale circle of light, head lowered in menace.

Spock shot him right between the eyes, the arrow smashing through the skull with such force that only the fletching remained visible, protruding like some weird horn out of his forehead. The wolf was dead before his body hit the ground.

The other five vanished into the darkness instantly while Spock nocked his next to last arrow and took up his stance once more, ready to loose the bowstring at the proper instant. Nothing moved except the body of the big wolf which lay twitching in the snow as its body's autonomic nerve functions played out their dying shudders.

Then Spock began to see the eyes again, very faint. The five remaining wolves were staying well out of the light. Spock wondered briefly if there might be some intelligence present in these beasts but dismissed the thought to ponder another time.

Nearly an hour went by before the wolves moved cautiously closer, their hunger driving them forward. A step here, a step there. They spread out, forcing Spock to keep turning. Finally, one ventured in too close and was rewarded with an arrow slamming into its ribcage.

The beast screamed and rolled in agony, snapping the arrow's shaft off as it thrashed. As before, its screeches seemed to trigger an instinctive killing urge in the others, for they pounced on their comrade and tore him to pieces. One of the others was seriously wounded in the fray but managed to get away, trailing a hind leg.

That left three wolves and one arrow. The faint gray light of dawn was beginning to lift the utter darkness, just enough so that Spock could see the animals as dark slinking shapes against the faint luminescence of the snow. His fire was dying down once more but he couldn't break his concentration to stoke it up again. The wolves, agitated into a killing frenzy by the commotion, were pacing back and forth, their eyes gleaming coldly. He could hear their harsh panting and see the plumes of breath now in the dim light.

He nocked his last arrow, grimly aware that his long battle had most likely proven futile. As he drew back, ready, his mind flashed to Christine — soft and hot and eager in his arms, strong and determined, working alongside him, laughing, blue eyes twinkling, surfacing from the pool like a mermaid from the depths — and to the child she carried, the son or daughter he would never see, never cradle in his arms and caress in wonder, never see at its mother's breast. All this was but an instant's flash, a lightning burst, seared like an afterimage on his mind's eye — and then there was no more time left. All three wolves were upon him with a roar.

* * *

In the faint gray light that presaged the dawn, Christine screamed and vaulted awake with such a powerful jerk that the child inside her thrashed in protest. The woman ignored the pain that its tiny flailing limbs caused her, knowing only that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Quickly she rose from the pile of furs and pulled one around her shoulders as she hurried past the meager door guard blocking her home and stared in fear around the little valley.

All was still and blanketed in the preternatural silence of a winter dawn. The only sounds were the faint click of tree branches moving in the wind, the soft creak of snow settling under its own weight, the almost inaudible burble of the creek beneath its covering of ice. It was a brittle silence, though, and the cold bit sharply at her lungs as she gulped in the frosty air.

"Spock!" she whispered, afraid to speak louder lest she shatter the silence. "Where _are_ you?! What's wrong?" She began to shiver in fear and cold, the icy hand of premonition gripping her in its talons.

* * *

The final arrow had smashed completely through the chest of middle wolf as it hurtled toward Spock, ripping its heart apart in the process. Its momentum carried it onward, however, and its body crashed into his, sending him flying. Man and beast thudded into the snow and earth, skidding to a halt in the very midst of the bonfire.

The other two wolves had both executed awkward but successful twists that saved them from landing there as well. Spock had scarcely hit the ground before he reflexively shoved the dead wolf off him and rolled frantically away from the fire, dousing in the snow any sparks that might have caught on his clothing.

He could smell scorching hair, but he didn't know if it was from his fur tunic or the wolf's pelt. He didn't have time to find out. The other two were whirling back his way. He did a lightning fast visual search for his spear, found it, but too far away to reach in time. Instead, he snatched a burning branch from the fire and thrust it into the faces of the creatures leaping toward him again. Both yelped and scuttled backwards, snapping and roaring in fury.

He forced them back a bit more, then snatched up his sturdy hunting spear with one hand while brandishing the burning branch with the other.

One wolf lunged at him and Spock hit it full in the face with the fire. Flames seared its eyes, filled its nostrils and mouth, and the wolf fell back with a scream, yanking the branch out of Spock's hand. The wounded creature rolled and leaped, rubbing its face in the snow, clawing at its mouth, in a frenzy to stop the pain. It ran blindly, trying to escape, its screeching audible long after it had disappeared.

Spock didn't hear it. The final wolf had leaped on him even as its companion was ripping the burning branch from the man's grasp. Spock tried to meet the charge with his spear, but the awkward grip he had on the shaft was jarred loose with the impact of the big, solid body hitting his.

The wolf slammed him into the ground and Spock was barely able to break its downward lunge by jamming his forearm against its throat. The deadly jaws were only inches away, however, its foul breath blasting into his face. Only his Vulcan strength kept the animal from locking its teeth into his throat in a death grip. They rolled over and over in the snow, Spock simultaneously attempting to reach his knife and hold the animal at bay, the werewolf straining to sink its teeth into the man and clawing through the Vulcan's thick layer of protective clothing.

It was a battle the man could not win. The animal was too strong, too utterly vicious, too determined. One of the huge slashing thumb claws ripped across Spock's cheek and, as Spock screamed and jerked away, the wolf lunged free of the blocking forearm and clamped its teeth on that same limb. Only the thick furs prevented its being shorn clean away but Spock nevertheless both heard and felt the bone pop as the wolf's jaws snapped shut.

Through the blinding white blast of pain, Spock was scarcely aware that the fingers of his other hand were gripping the hilt of the Romulan hunting knife. His world had shrunk to a hell of pain and blood and coming death. Dimly he was aware that the wolf was shaking him as if he were a newborn antelope fawn and that it would only be seconds before the mighty jaws ripped him apart.

With his last remaining lucid thought and strength, Spock slammed the long steel blade into the wolf's belly and pulled with all his might. There was a tearing sound and the wolf let go of his arm with a screech of surprise and pain. Spock felt something hot and wet and heavy fall on his knife hand and the weight of it bore the hand to the ground, pinning it there.

The wolf collapsed on top of him, convulsed for a moment, and was still. Then Spock knew no more.

* * *

Christine shaded her eyes against the glare on the snow and scanned the horizon once more. She had dressed in her warmest clothing and had climbed to the bluff above their camp as soon as it was light enough to see. She could make out the line of tracks he had made the day before as he set off for the woods to the east but the wind had blurred their outline, blowing powdered snow across and into them.

Spock was alive and in pain — she could feel that much through their mindbond, but it did not give her a direction in which to search.

Nothing moved in that vast wilderness save for the trees bending against the north wind and a few birds.

Birds... Sometimes was moving. Far away at the edge of the woodlands. Birds circling in a pattern that was dreadfully familiar. Birds circling above something dead ... or dying...

* * *

It was the stench that finally brought Spock back to consciousness. That and the weight of something large lying across his chest, preventing him from drawing a full breath. And the pain...

He hurt everywhere in varying degrees of torment, but it seemed to be his right arm where the worst of it was located. The heaviness was lying across his arm and that's why it hurt so much, he decided.

He made an experimental attempt at pulling his right arm free and was immediately blasted with a lightning burst of agony that nearly spun him back into unconsciousness once more. He lay very still for a while, slowly bringing himself back awake. As his mind cleared, he remembered what had happened and sorted things out in more detail.

The weight lying atop him was the last werewolf. The stench was its ruptured entrails that had spilled out when Spock had ripped its belly open with his knife. The pain in his arm was because it was badly broken. The pain in his face was where a talon had sliced across his cheek. The various other pains were where claws had pierced through his clothing or from the battering his body had taken in the fight.

His first priority was to gain control of the pain and with the iron discipline of a lifetime of training, he sank into meditation, localizing the pain, sealing it off, doing away with it. "Pain is of the mind," he murmured to himself. "The mind can be controlled. I am a Vulcan. There is no pain. There ... is ... no ... pain..."

It was a mantra he had used before, on Deneva, when the agony he had undergone following the attack of the brain parasites was even worse than what he endured now. This time he didn't have an outside force battling his every effort to banish the suffering. Here he accomplished his task after a short time, allowing him to concentrate on the rest of his predicament.

The pain was still there, writhing like a live wire, but it was controlled now. He could think past it.

With his left hand, Spock grasped the rough fur of the wolf and managed to get it off his chest and broken arm. Then he wriggled out from under it and slowly sat up, cradling his useless right arm with his left one.

The scene around him was like something out of hell. The snow was packed with a myriad of footprints, splattered with blood, both red and green, the bodies of several dead wolves lying in pools of frozen gore. Already carrion birds were on them, pulling shreds of flesh from the carcasses. A squawk behind him made him turn to find two more pecking at the body of the elk calf.

Spock saw his spear lying nearby and he reached out with his good hand and managed to get hold of it. Swinging it around, he shouted harshly at the birds, driving them away from the elk. They flapped off with loud protestations, causing their fellows to take flight as well at the commotion. They all circled up overhead, waiting for a chance to return to their meals.

Spock's knife was still buried in the belly of the wolf and he managed to reach this as well. Working awkwardly, he cut the hem off his long fur tunic and managed to get the end tied in a knot, using his teeth to pull it tight. This he slipped over his head and used as a sling to support his broken arm. Then, employing the hefty spear as an anchor, Spock shakily got to his knees and pulled himself to his feet.

The world spun and he nearly blacked out again, but then finally things stopped whirling and his equilibrium came back. Retrieving his undamaged bow and empty quiver, Spock limped over to where the elk lay still lashed to the travois, the carcass now frozen solid. He still had to get it back to camp, back to Christine... It was what he had come for.

He worked his upper torso into the rawhide harness he had fashioned the day before that would allow him to pull the travois, got his bearings, and leaned into the rig. He was down on his knees in the snow before he knew what had hit him. The travois and its cargo had frozen solid during the night and it refused to budge. In addition, the sudden jerk on his body had shattered his control over the pain as every contusion and injury, every laceration and bruise, every broken or cracked bone abruptly screamed in protest.

More carefully this time, Spock got back to his feet and spent a moment reining in the pain. Then he moved off to the left until he heard the ice around the travois' runners crack. Stopping, he moved back an equal distance to the right. The travois came free.

Spock rested for a moment, then gathered himself and dug the butt of the spear into the ground as leverage, leaning into the harness again. The travois moved forward.

Step by torturous step, Spock began the long journey home.

* * *

 _This is totally illogical_ , Spock thought as he stared up at the angel. _Such creatures are mythical. They do not exist._

He closed his eyes for a moment then ventured to open them again just a bit. The angel was still there. The corona of golden light surrounding her was so bright it hurt to look at it and he shut his eyes once more. Then he felt her soft touch on his face, the side that was uninjured, and a feeling of joy and calmness washed over him, filling him with warmth.

"Spock?" He heard her voice as she spoke but, more amazing, he heard her inside his mind as well. "You're almost home now, Spock."

 _Home?_ That confused him even further. This place didn't feel like Vulcan. It was too cold. _He_ was too cold. The only place this cold on Vulcan was the peak of Mt. Seleya. _Ahhhh_.... he thought. That was it. He was lying in Seleya's snows, waiting to ascend to the Ancestors. Then this _wasn't_ an angel, but an Ancestor come to guide him. He wondered which one...

"Spock?" she said again, just a bit more forceful this time. "I need for you to get up. I can't carry you."

No, of course not. One must enter the Realms on one's own. But he was so tired right now. "Rest..." he murmured aloud. "Need to rest..."

"No, you can't rest yet," the Ancestor informed him. "Soon, but not yet. Get up, Spock."

"Just a little..." he murmured.

Something hit his cheek sharply, leaving it stinging. "Spock, get up!" the Ancestor commanded. "You've got to get on your feet again! I can't carry you!"

He blinked and looked up at the Ancestor again. She had Christine's face and her expression was growing fierce.

And then it came back to him in a rush ... the pain, the journey, the fact that he would die here in the snow if he could not make it just a little further.

He struggled up into a sitting position and she supported him, then her arms went around him hard and she bent her face into his shoulder, bursting into tears of relief. He couldn't comfort her, his head still muddled as he worked at getting things sorted out. After a few minutes, she lifted her face and kissed him fervently, then pulled away, getting to her feet.

"We're almost there," she said as she helped him stand. "Just a little farther, darling, and then you can rest."

He was still harnessed to the travois and, looking behind him, he could see a long trail in the snow, the drag marks of the travois and two sets of footsteps, leading back as far as he could see. He looked around at his wife, puzzled.

"I found you two miles back there," she said in answer. "I don't know how you made it as far as you did alone. You're badly hurt, Spock, but I can't treat your injuries until we can get back to the cave. I've been helping you pull this thing."

He shook his head. "You can't pull," he answered in a voice rough from his ordeal. "Not in your condition."

"You can't pull in your condition either," she replied. "But together we can make it." She slipped an arm around him and took up her position at his side. "Let's go. It'll be dark soon and I think it's going to snow again."

Her solid presence and support sent new strength flowing through him and Spock clenched his teeth together and set out again, their valley just ahead.

* * *

Christine sat by the fire and slowly sipped the cup of herb tea in her hands. She was more tired than she'd ever been, but it was a satisfied kind of tired. Spock was sleeping quietly now, his fever broken, and his injuries were healing. It had been a very hard few days, however.

Together, somehow, they had managed to drag the elk carcass near to their butchering site. It was nearly dark by then and Spock was plainly in the final stages of total collapse. Only his innate strength and determination allowed him to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He stumbled and fell as they hauled the travois down into the valley, got up and made it a few more feet before propping himself against a tree to support his shaking legs. "I ... I can't go any farther..." he wheezed, clutching the tree to keep him upright.

"You don't have to, love," Christine told him. "We're here. We're home."

Quickly, she drew her knife and cut the rawhide traces that harnessed Spock to the travois, then she slid underneath his good arm and wrapped her arms around him. "Just a tiny bit farther, to the cave, and you can sleep."

He staggered, not wanting to lean on her, but unable to walk any more under his own power. His head was spinning and his vision shrinking down to a long tunnel with the doorway to their home as its focus. Then he felt the earthen floor beneath his feet and the warmth of the embers on the hearth and then all he could see was the pile of furs.

He collapsed face down as the remainder of his strength fled. Christine knelt beside him and turned him over onto his back, afraid he would injure his arm even more. His eyes were rolling back in his head as he managed to whisper, "...must ... healing ... three ... days..." Then he slipped into unconsciousness.

She covered him with furs and stoked the fire up high, then she plunged back out into the twilight on a quick errand. The heavy damp cold of the day had settled in even closer as the sun had set and she could see snowflakes beginning to drift down. That suited her just fine because she wanted it as cold as possible right now.

The elk lay against a little overhang and a quick check showed her that the carcass was frozen stiff. Quickly, for the snow was falling heavier now, she raked the existing snow over it, packing it down a little. The new snow would cover it well and keep it frozen. It would keep in this natural deep freeze until she could get back to process it.

Her first priority now, though, was Spock. As she came back into the cave, she saw that he hadn't moved and she secured the hide-covered gateway, shutting out the cold. It was already much warmer inside and she took a few minutes to bask by the fire and get the chill out of her hands and body. Then she took several of the little oil lamps they had carved and lit the wicks of twisted grass, setting them around Spock's bed so that she would have light to work by. The rendered animal fat was rank and smoky, but it was all she had.

The cave was very warm now and she uncovered her husband, the nurse in her taking charge. She managed to get the heavy fur mukluks off his feet and examined them for frostbite, looking for any sign of blackened flesh. His feet and toes, however, had withstood the cold very well and she then turned to his other clothing.

Taking her knife, she gently but quickly cut through the lacings on the tunic and breeches, separating the clothes back into their component parts, easing them off his body. She would re‑sew them later into new garments. What she found underneath made her bite her lip and struggle to keep tears from welling up.

He was in worse shape than she'd thought. The broken right arm was by far the gravest injury, the cracked end of the bone protruding up in a grotesque lump, nearly breaking through the flesh. _Transverse fracture of the lower humerus Vulcanis_ , her inner voice commented dispassionately. She did a head-to-toe examination, checking off his wounds. _Severe laceration to the right cheekbone; need to suture that. Multiple puncture wounds on shoulders and chest. Long tear in rectus femoris muscle. That needs sutures, too. Numerous contusions of varying size and severity._

Her professional training automatically prioritized which injury needed attention first. Before she could set his arm, she had to stop the bleeding from the long rip down his right thigh, the _rectus femoris_. Whatever had attacked him must have gotten a claw into his leg and sliced downward. The leather of his breeches had stuck to it and acted as a makeshift tourniquet but now it was open and bleeding again. Taking a long strip of leather, Christine bound up the wound, putting pressure on it and closing it until she could tend to it properly. Then she turned to his arm.

"Oh, Spock," she whispered to him. "I'm so glad you're not awake. I don't think even you could stand what I'm going to have to do to you."

It took all night. Carefully she set the broken arm, splinting it and wrapping it in strips of leather, the only kind of bandages she had. Then she turned back to his leg, cleaning it, evaluating the depth and severity of the cut, and finally dipping into the tiny store of drugs from the Romulan first aid kit. She injected him with one of the three disposable hypos containing antibiotic and then checked to see if there was suture material. There was, but not enough to do this big a job.

Christine sat back and thought for a moment, then turned to her sewing supplies ... the sinew and bone needles she used on their clothing. Filling a bowl with water, she set it into the fire and dropped in the materials. After the water had boiled and then cooled, she set about the laborious task of stitching the muscle and skin back together. It wasn't pretty and he would have a prominent scar but hopefully it would do the trick. She dusted it with antiseptic powder and wrapped it in bandages.

She did much the same thing to the long cut on his face, although here she used the much finer suture needle and thread in the medical kit. On this wound she placed one of their few gauze bandages and secured it with tape.

His other, more minor wounds she cleaned and did what she could. Then she covered him and made him warm and lay down beside him, exhausted, wrapped in a fur of her own.

He lay like one dead for three days, his injuries swelling and beginning to fester, though not as much as she would have feared. Inside his mind, he was fighting fiercely to heal his body and control the infection, fighting on an almost molecular level with the Vulcan conviction that the mind could and would rule the physical.

On the third day, he began to stir restlessly and she did her best to wake him. "Hit me!" he commanded her tightly although he was still deeply asleep. It was unnerving to know that it was some part of his subconscious that spoke to her, but he was so sunk into the healing trance that nothing she did could get him past that portal between sleep and consciousness.

Finally, in desperation, she soundly whacked the side of his injured leg and the pain snapped him awake with a cry. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she immediately soothed him. "Oh, Spock, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, darling! Don't try to get up. You're still very badly injured."

He lay back, closing his eyes, but it was out of weakness and pain. "Tell me," he said.

She related the extent of his injuries and how they were healing. He had avoided major infection, whether through the healing trance or the Romulan antibiotics or both, but he was very far from well. "Do you think you could eat something?" she asked him.

"A bit," he answered tiredly.

She brought him soup with vegetables and some bread that she dipped in the broth to soften it. "Not too much now," she cautioned him. "You can have more later, but not too much at first." She fed him the thin soup and was satisfied when he got down a half a dozen spoonfuls and a few bites of bread.

"You sleep now," she smiled at him. "It's the best possible thing you can do."

"I need the latrine," he answered and tried to lift his upper body off the furs.

She was pushing him back down immediately. "Nope," she replied. "You're not going anywhere. You forget that I'm a nurse, and one of the unglamorous parts of being a nurse is toting bedpans." She retrieved a large bowl and helped him relieve himself, then cleaned him and covered him once more. She could tell it embarrassed him to be forced to allow even her such terrible intimacies but she smiled and said, "Look at it this way. In a few weeks, you're going to have to help _me_ this way." Then laughing softly, she said, "If we're not really and truly married after all _this_ , then we never will be!"

And so it went for the next few days. Despite the effects of the healing trance and using all their tiny store of medicine to prevent infection, the wounds festered and swelled painfully. Spock developed a raging fever and it took all of Christine's skills at nursing to see him through it. Vulcans did not sweat the way humans did but Spock was often drenched as his fever burned higher than a human could survive. Then he would be overcome with chills and shake so hard his teeth would chatter, moaning as his muscles and bones ached unbearably.

Christine alternately mopped him down and bundled him as warmly as possible, forcing him to take as much liquid as she could get down him. Unable to eat more than a few bites of soup a day, his gauntness became skeletal thinness and Christine made a decision regarding this. She began to mix meat broth and grated, dried meat into the soup, determined to get enough nourishment into him that he could survive this ordeal.

He was too sick to notice the difference as she spooned the thickened soup into him several times a day, supplementing it with softened bread, boiled grain, and baked, mashed fruits and vegetables. She didn't tell him what she was doing, simply happy that he didn't appear to detect the change in taste and consistency. Slowly, she began to see an almost imperceptible response in his appearance. His color was a little better and he no longer seemed at death's door.

On the eight day, the fever broke and his injuries had scabbed over, only the wound in his thigh still showing signs of infection. It was an angry, seeping green but, compared to what it had been, Christine's trained eye could see that healing was underway. Best of all, Spock was now sleeping peacefully, if in utter exhaustion and weakness.

Christine caressed his beloved face and bent to kiss him softly on the forehead, pushing his matted dark hair out of the way. He still had a long way to go to recovery, but she felt this battle was won. Cupping her little bowl of fragrant tea in her hands, she settled back against the wall next to their bed and watched her husband sleep, smiling as she rested one hand on her burgeoning stomach and felt their child moving within.

* * *

As the days passed and a new cycle of the moons began, Spock slowly recovered. Christine was grateful for the cold, snowy weather for it kept him confined to the warm cave and curtailed his inclination to do too much too soon. Instead, he realized the illogic of venturing out into the frigid wilderness with a broken arm and still painful leg. Despite his innately strong Vulcan constitution, the ordeal had severely weakened him and he found that he was prone to chills and respiratory complaints if he spent too much time outside. To fill the long days, he took up the basket making project that Christine had abandoned weeks earlier and applied his keen mind to the problem of weaving long grass stems and reeds into a pattern tight enough to hold water. It was awkward with his right arm still splinted, but he managed.

Christine was more resilient to the temperature, hailing from a colder, wetter world. When she could leave him, she tackled the job of processing the elk. Packed under the snow, it had stayed frozen solid. So solid, in fact, that she had to use Spock's axe to chop off chunks that she could handle. He was opposed at first to her doing any strenuous labor in her now advanced pregnancy, but she pointed out that one of them had to do it and soon she truly _would_ be unable to handle an axe.

Bringing the chunks of frozen venison back into the cave, she carefully thawed the meat enough to begin slicing it. She hated to ruin the skin but thought she could salvage enough to tan into smaller items like pouches, hand coverings and such things.

Some of the meat she hung up to dry after pounding the crushed seeds of pepper-like plants into it, giving the jerky a distinctly spicy flavor. A good deal more of the meat strips went into the brine barrel for salt curing. Covered with rock salt and packed down into the below-freezing brine, the meat would keep until well into the spring. The salt kept the juices and water from turning to ice, but made it extra cold as a result. Still other meat strips were smoked over a pit they had made for that purpose. The smoked meat wasn't as tough as the jerky, plus it had a delicious, different flavor.

Christine always saved some of the meat to roast over the fire and eat. Spock had long since become used to the smell and no longer felt it necessary to go outside when she began cooking. He still did not find it particularly pleasant, but had learned to live with it.

On this particular evening, he had retired already to the sleeping furs, fatigued, as Christine made supper. She bent over the cooking pots and ladled out a bowlful of aromatic soup, chunky with vegetables, and then brought it to him with a round of their thin, cracker-like bread. Then she returned to her own meal, a small piece of venison skewered on a stake and hung over the fire to roast. It was nearly done and she turned it a little to make sure both sides cooked evenly.

She didn't see Spock start to raise a spoonful of soup to his lips and then stop in mid-action, staring fixedly at the spoon.

"Christine?" he asked in a deceptively quiet voice. "What is _this_?"

"Hmm? Just the same old soup," she answered, not paying attention. "You have it every night. You ought to recognize it by now."

"No. I mean, what is _this_?"

She turned to find him glaring at her and holding the spoon level and aimed in her direction.

Suddenly she realized what he was talking about and her heart thudded. "Why?" she asked in a voice that wasn't entirely steady.

His dark brows lowered even farther over his smoldering eyes. "You know why," he snapped. Furious, he dropped the spoon back into his bowl and set it down with a little more force than necessary on the ground, as far as he could get it away from him.

He continued to pierce her with his accusing glare then stated harshly, "This is a violation! You know that it is against everything I believe in to eat the flesh of a living creature! How dare you do this!"

Christine flared back at him. "How dare I!? I'll tell you how I dare! Because it kept you alive, that's how! If I hadn't taken the medical steps to get food in you—"

"Medical!" he echoed in astonishment.

"Yes, medical!" she snapped. "Your nutrition intake was too low to sustain life, my dear puritanical Vulcan! All the sayings of Surak wouldn't have saved you if I hadn't managed to get some good hot protein into that stiff-necked body of yours!"

"There are plenty of plants—"

She made a violent gesture in the direction of the doorway. "Go find me some then! Go out there in that knee deep snow and bring me back enough legumes and leafy green vegetables and tubers and fresh fruit that I can keep you healthy and munching on carrots to your heart's content!"

"Do not be absurd, Christine," he answered angrily. "You are being illogical—"

" _Logic!_ Oh, there's that magic word again!" she retorted loudly. "Okay, let's talk about logic! I fed you meat because it was logical, Mr. Spock the All-Knowing! I made a medical evaluation of your condition and determined that it was logical to add meat to your diet in order to raise the nutritional levels to an acceptable level. I determined logically that I am eight-and-a-half months pregnant with your child and it would be extraordinarily difficult to survive if you were dead of starvation! I thought it over carefully and came to the logical conclusion that two of us have a better chance of survival than a woman alone weakened by childbirth and attempting to find enough food to feed herself and nurse a newborn baby!" Tears were starting to spill down her cheeks. "And I determined logically that I love you and couldn't bear to go on if you died! I would die, too. By my own hand, if necessary."

Spock was stunned into silence by her tirade. He spoke in a softer voice. "But I cannot eat meat, Christine. As a Vulcan, I simply cannot."

"No," she interrupted him, shaking her head. "You _won't_ eat meat. There's a distinct difference. You've been eating meat for the past three weeks, whether you realized it or not, and you handled it just fine. The only reason that you won't eat it is because of philosophical beliefs that don't apply here."

"You should understand this, Christine," he persevered. "There are religions on your own planet that have dietary laws against certain types of foods."

"We're not on Earth, Spock, nor on Vulcan! Those laws don't mean shit!" she answered. "Maybe a religious person on Earth might be justified in starving himself to death in the name of a taboo he refused to violate, or a Vulcan might renounce everything in order to achieve Kohlinahr, but not here! Not us! Spock, you and I are all we have. We cannot afford the luxury of picking and choosing what we will and won't eat. Personally, I find it utterly incredible that we've survived this long. We could be killed tomorrow. Except for one thing..."

Suddenly Christine was as fierce and predatory as Spock had ever seen her, her brows bunched together over her icy blue eyes as she leaned toward him. " _They are not going to win!_ " she ground out. "Those Romulan bastards left us here to die and I will not oblige them by doing so! And I'm not going to let you die, either! I will do anything it takes to survive, Spock! Do you understand me? _Anything!_ And that includes stuffing meat down your throat with my bare hands if I have to!"

She meant it. He could see by the half-mad light in her eyes that she was near a breaking point if he fought her on this issue. And perhaps it was ... logical. He could see a certain amount of sound reasoning in her words.

He was silent for a long moment, then answered quietly, "I will meditate on this." Slowly, he lay down on his left side and pulled the furs up over his injured arm, his back to Christine and the fire. He didn't move again for the rest of the night. And he didn't sleep either.

* * *

Spock had listened quietly as Christine had finished her supper in silence, then retrieved the bowl of now-cold soup from his bedside. She poured the soup back into the main pot, not wasting any of it, and stepped outside for a few minutes to wash the carved bowl with snow. When she came back inside, she put their few kitchen utensils away, made herself some tea, and sat for a long time by the fire. He could feel her anger with him pulsating across their bond, mixed with other emotions in a volatile combination. He had long since learned that she occasionally experienced these hypersensitive mood swings and usually just shielded against them when they occurred.

Tonight he blocked her more heavily than usual in order to think through what she had said. His cultural taboos warred with logic, both of them proclaiming themselves the Vulcan Way. He broke the problem down and studied each element. It was a fact that Vulcans did not now eat meat but that had not always been the case. Cultural vegetarianism had only become the norm during the past 500 years or so as the Tenets of Surak had been accepted and put into practice worldwide. It was rooted in the universal respect for life, in any form.

And yet, if one wanted to split hairs about it, plants were a form of life and Vulcans had no qualms about eating them. Was it because animal life was considered sentient, self-aware, while plants were not? Who could say that was definitively true? Was an Aldebaran bloodworm more sentient than the Thax vines of Canopus 4, which lived in community groups and made art and tools? If it was ethical to survive by consuming plant life in all its forms, why was it unethical to survive by consuming animal life? Did not both actions result in the taking of life?

What then constituted 'ethics'? Was it ethical to end a life to prevent that life from dying in pain? Was it ethical to end an animal's life that way but not a person's? Why should there be a difference? Were not both living beings and subject to the same amount of pain? Was an animal any less dead if it were euthanized instead of being killed for food? Why was one acceptable but the other not? The killing for food sustained other life and, therefore, could be considered ethical in its own way.

Spock frowned, realizing that he was arguing in circles. He made his thoughts turn back to the problem at hand. Conclusion: given the circumstances, it was logical to kill and consume animal life in order to survive. Note: Christine had made a valid evaluation of his medical condition and was justified in adding meat to his diet, although he was still disturbed that she had not told him and had deceived him into eating it.

Second problem: his deeply embedded cultural taboos against the eating of meat would be difficult to overcome. The very idea was repulsive to him and made his stomach lurch uncomfortably at the prospect. However, this was a learned and not a physiological response and what was learned could be unlearned.

Conclusion: he must begin to condition himself to ingest meat without his stomach rejecting it. Note: It was not his stomach rejecting it; it was his _mind_. The mind could be controlled. If he had done it with his pain, he could do it with a change in his diet.

As he argued back and forth with himself, he saw Christine bank the fire and come to bed. Undressing, she lay down beside him, her back to him. He did not touch her or speak to her, sensing that she was still in no mood to have him do so. Her back was stiff for a while but then gradually relaxed and he could tell by her even breathing that she had fallen asleep.

He closed his eyes and returned to his meditation. Perhaps tomorrow he would try the soup again. Just a few bites at first, but he would try.

* * *

Christine put both hands against her aching lower back and tried to get the soreness out, but to no avail. She wanted to enjoy the day, warm and sunny, flush with the sweet scent of spring, but she couldn't get comfortable. They had been on the planet for a year now but had missed this season. The bursting floral displays and explosion of green that had swept across the land was like nothing she had ever known. The plains for miles around were painted with a veritable palette of colors — blues, yellows, reds, pinks, oranges, purples. The trees and bushes were in bloom with pink and white flowers and beginning to buzz with the local equivalent of honeybees. The herds of animals hadn't returned yet, but birds were coming back in and it wouldn't be long before they would be nesting and raising their new broods of chicks.

The thought made Christine look down at her huge belly. By her calculation, the baby was due any time now. It had dropped low into her pelvis and she had begun to experience an increase in the Braxton-Hicks contractions that had been rippling her abdomen for the past few weeks. She recognized them for what they were and also knew that her body was preparing itself for labor. The imminent birth worried her a lot because she would have to talk Spock through the delivery and because there would be no medical help if anything should go wrong.

Of course, he had had the requisite emergency medical training required of every Starfleet officer and knew all the mechanics of delivering a baby, but that was a lot different from actual experience, particularly when it was your wife you were delivering and it was taking place in a cave on a distant planet!

And she was, at 32 years old, a little old for giving birth to one's first child ... and a part-alien child at that. Countless things could happen. Still, something deep inside Christine _felt_ right. She rubbed both hands over her belly, murmuring softly, "It'll be okay, little one..."

Two arms slipped around her from the back and two large hands covered her smaller ones. "Have you any idea how incredibly beautiful you are to me?" Spock's soft, deep voice whispered in her ear.

Christine smiled. "What — you like your women bloated, tired and cranky?"

"You are not 'bloated, tired and cranky'," he answered in an amused voice. "You are heavy with our baby, fatigued from the long burden you have carried, and justifiably looking forward to the end." He nuzzled her hair. "And I do find you the most unbelievably beautiful woman I have ever known."

He slipped one hand up over her tunic so that he could lay his palm against her tight abdomen. "I still find myself speechless when I think of you carrying my child inside you," he said softly. "A year ago, I would never have believed it possible... the ... the depth of emotion I would feel for you and ... how much I desire this child of ours..."

She closed her eyes and leaned back against him, suddenly overwhelmed with love for this man. She wanted to say something but couldn't because her throat was so tight. Instead, she turned in his arms and put her arms around his waist, hugging him fiercely, projecting all that she felt through their mindbond. He returned the embrace, enfolding her in his own emotional blanket.

After a moment, though, she squirmed and pulled away, frowning a little as she rubbed her abdomen. Instantly, he was alert, concerned. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you in pain?"

"No," she answered. "Just another Braxton-Hicks. This one was a little stronger than usual, but that's normal. And my lower back hurts. Would you rub it a little for me?"

"Of course," he answered. "Do you want to stay here or shall we go back down to the cave?"

Christine looked out over the sun drenched plains and part of her wanted to stay on the bluff, enjoying the spring weather. But she was suddenly feeling very tired and the wind was cold.

"Let's go back home," she said. "I think I need to lie down for a little while and take a nap. It was a longer walk up here than I thought."

Spock slipped a supportive arm around his wife and they started back down to their valley.

* * *

At dawn, Spock awoke to find Christine curled in on herself, holding her distended belly and rocking slightly to some internal rhythm only she could hear. Alarmed, he raised himself on one elbow and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Christine?" he asked quietly, apprehension apparent in his voice. "Has it begun?"

"Yes," she answered.

"How long?"

"About two hours," she replied. "It comes and goes."

He sat up, leaning over her in concern. "What should I do?"

"Nothing, right now." She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Although you could help me get up. I need to hit the necessary."

Spock quickly got to his feet and assisted his wife in rising. "Brrr, it's cold in here," Christine said. "Could you hand me my long tunic and then help me get my mocs on?" He gave her the requested garment and then knelt at her feet, slipping her high moccasins on her feet and lacing them for her.

"Thank you, sweetheart," she smiled down at him, then turned and started awkwardly in the direction of the latrine.

"Do you need any help?" he asked, getting up.

"No, I think I can manage. I'll call you if I do. Why don't you get the fire going and start breakfast?" she answered back.

Spock quirked an eyebrow at her casualness, something he was definitely not feeling at the moment, and hurriedly pulled on his own clothing. He built up the fire and set a pot of water next to it to boil some of the rice-like grain they'd found late in the autumn, then went to see if Christine was all right.

He found her leaning against one of the cavern walls, bent over somewhat and holding her belly with one hand. Quickly, he went to her and put his arm around her shoulders in support.

She was breathing rhythmically then straightened slowly. "It's okay. The pains aren't bad yet. They're about 20 minutes apart right now." She smiled at his anxious expression. "Spock, relax! This stage of labor can go on for hours! The main thing is just to take it easy right now. Believe me, the calmer and more relaxed I am, the easier this part is going to be. But I still have to go to the bathroom, so beat it! I don't need an audience yet!" Laughing, she shooed him back to their main living area.

Spock went, wondering just how long this day was going to be. It looked like a long one.

* * *

Christine ate a light breakfast, then prepared their sleeping area for the birth. Removing their sleeping furs, she laid down a large, soft-tanned hide, well-worked so that it would be both comfortable and absorbent. Working between contractions, she set out the things that she had determined they would need and had prepared long before. She was still feeling fairly active and decided she wanted to take a short walk. Spock was skeptical that this was a good idea, but she insisted that the exercise would help the labor along and that simply lying on the bed and waiting for hours would only make her miserable.

They walked down to the pond and back, stopping whenever a contraction came on, then resuming after it had passed. By the time they got back, Christine was ready for a rest as the pains had crept to about fifteen minutes apart now and were slightly stronger. Lying down for a while, she couldn't seem to find a comfortable position and finally asked Spock to help her to the latrine again. This time she leaned on him, not trusting her legs to support her alone.

Just as she finished her business in their makeshift restroom, she groaned and clutched her belly, and a gush of liquid poured down her legs.

"Christine!" he exclaimed. "The baby!"

"No, it's all right," she answered, eyes clenched shut. "My water just broke. Don't worry." The contraction eased up and she managed to straighten. "Help me back to bed, Spock. You'll need to clean me up and get these wet things off me." She smiled. "Think you'll survive this, Dad?"

He sighed and gave her a wan little smile in return. "I am beginning to understand why Vulcan women generally handle these matters and exclude men entirely," he answered. "I do not believe men are inherently strong enough to undergo this on a regular basis!"

She laughed and let him guide her back to bed.

* * *

Christine wasn't laughing anymore. She also wasn't trying to reassure Spock about anything. The whole of her world had narrowed down to the globe of pain that surrounded her lower body and was shrinking smaller and smaller, threatening to squeeze her to death. She had been in labor for ten hours now and the last two had been the worst.

Early on, as the day passed, she had paced, lain down, gotten up and paced again. Finally she couldn't get to her feet anymore and Spock had lain down behind her, using his body heat to ease the ache in her back, and initiating a low level meld with her to mask the worst of the pain while still allowing her to feel and focus on what her body was doing.

This helped for a couple of hours until the contractions grew so close together and hard that she shoved his hands away from her face and made it plain that she didn't want him touching her. "Get me some water," she said crossly. "I'm hot."

He came back with a bowl of water but it had a sponge plant lying in it. They had discovered this growing at the edges of their pond. It had proved to be a natural holder of water, its fibers as absorbent as a sea sponge, and could be dried and stored. It was also sweet and delicious and a rare treat for them.

Spock knelt down beside her and said softly, "You can't have any water to drink but you can suck pieces of this."

Christine's brows lowered in anger. "You can suck your head, Spock! I'm thirsty! I want a drink!"

"I am following your own instructions, Christine," he said calmly. "Do you want a piece of this?"

"Yes," she admitted, shutting her eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry."

"There is no need to be sorry," he answered, breaking off a piece of the juicy plant and offering it to her. She opened her mouth and he placed the fruit on her tongue. She was silent for a while, sucking the juice and letting the taste soothe her.

As she felt another hard contraction beginning, she hastily swallowed the fruit and began to pant her way through the pain. Groping, she caught Spock's hand and held on tight.

Night had fallen outside and Spock started to light their oil lamps, but Christine snapped, "No! I can't stand the smell of those things! Just keep the fire burning. That's all I want!"

He complied and sat beside her as her labor intensified. After a particularly hard contraction, as he bathed her sweaty face, she said, "Talk to me, Spock. Just talk to me for a while."

"About what?"

"I don't care. Tell me about something nice that happened to you as a boy. I just want to hear you talk."

"Hmmm ... I am not sure that I can think of anything in particular I would call 'nice' but I do have some pleasant memories. I recall a holiday that we took on the shores of the Charis Sea, which I thought very strange at first. Vulcans do not swim recreationally, you see, and find it illogical to lie in the sun. But my mother had a burning urge to go to the beach and so my father finally relented. He stayed in our rented cottage and worked most of the time, as I recall, but my mother and I had wonderful walks along the shore in the morning and late afternoon. I can remember being barefoot on the wet sand and finding shells that had washed ashore and being fascinated by the endless waves that rolled in."

Christine groaned and rolled away from him onto her other side. "Go on," she said in a strained voice. "I'm listening."

Spock pulled her hair away from her neck and gently bathed her neck, shoulders and upper back. "One evening she and I built a small fire on the beach at dusk and roasted _tarn_ pods and _bik_ roots in the coals while we watched the sun set, then ate them with our fingers. Sarek thought we were both disgraceful because it is considered terrible manners to actually touch your food, you see. Sarek was appalled, but Mother had a marvelous time and I must admit that I did, too."

Christine rolled back over and gasped in pain, clutching at his hand again. Quickly, he steadied her. "Breathe through it, Christine."

"I can't! It hurts too much!" she wailed.

"Yes, you can. Breathe, _t'hy'la_ , breathe!"

She managed to pant a little then whimpered, "I can't make it, Spock. I don't have the strength anymore."

"It won't be much longer now, beloved," he said softly, again wiping her face with the damp scrap of cloth. "You are in transition now, I think."

"Do something," she moaned. "Call sick bay and have them send someone up here! I need help!"

His heart constricted and he fought down a note of panic. "Just a little longer, Christine. It won't be much longer."

Her answer was a long, drawn out moan of utter misery as her belly cramped into another intense contraction.

For the next half hour, Spock wasn't sure that Christine _was_ going to survive. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the torment became nearly unbearable. He tried to initiate a meld once more but she slapped his hand away from her face. "Don't touch me!" she shouted, nearly irrational with the almost constant pain. "I can't stand you touching me!" She rolled and held her belly. "Oh, God, do something!!"

For a moment he was at a loss, then he reached out and forcibly took her face in his hands, his fingers moving into meld position. Almost immediately, he had formed a link with her and seized control of her mind. _There is no pain_ , Christine, he told her. _I will control it for you. I will help you with this. It is almost over, my beloved. The baby is almost ready to come_.

His immense strength and love for her pulled her over the barrier of the final stage of birth. She relaxed and managed to find herself again. "Get me up, Spock," she said in a breathless voice. "Get me into a squatting position. I've got to push!"

He took his hands away from her face and helped her upright, his mental bond with her strongly in place. She squatted, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders, clenched her teeth and bore down. He could see her vagina bulge apart with the dark crown of the baby's head.

"Again, Christine! Push hard again!" he ordered her.

She took another deep breath and strained, her face red with effort, her fingers biting into the flesh of his shoulders. He didn't feel it. "Now, Christine! Take another breath and _push_!"

She screamed and pushed with all her might, felt her body tear, and then, with a gush of birth fluids and blood, the baby was out and Spock had his hands full with his slippery, outraged, loudly protesting son.

**Present Day**

His thoughts turning back to the present, Spock looked over at the boy walking on the other side of the little _mesohippus_ they had caught. David Sapel cha'Spock hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch had grown tall and strong in his ten years, self-assured and bright. Though he had Spock's Vulcan characteristics and coloring, he took after his mother in temperament. His predominantly human blood made him a cheerful boy who was quick to laugh and get into mischief and Spock had to admit to himself that, without his own rigid Vulcan upbringing, he might have been much like Sapel at this age.

The boy noticed his father's eye on him and turned curiously. "What's wrong, Papa?" he asked.

Spock shook his head, guilty at getting caught. "Nothing, Sapel. I was just thinking back to when you were born."

"It was just you and Mama then, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Just us two."

"Must've been pretty lonesome, huh?"

"Well, it was a good deal _quieter_ ," Spock replied but the fond twinkle in his eye led Sapel to believe that he wasn't entirely serious.

The boy was silent for a few minutes than asked pensively, "Are we really the only ones here? There's no other Humans?"

"As far as we know, we are alone here."

Sapel turned back to his thoughts as they walked. The boy's eyes moved across the yellow fields of grass undulating to the horizon, dotted here and there with little stands of trees. Overhead, long V's of black geese and other water fowl winged their way south, their faint raucous cries clear in the quiet afternoon. In the knee-high grass, leafspringers and other insects hopped or flew out of their way, only to light once more on the heavy grassheads not far away.

Ahead he spotted the little valley that was their home with the waterfall trickling its endless stream into the pond and the willows bending over it, shedding their yellowing leaves on the water like a golden carpet. The smell of wood smoke and food cooking drifted up from the outdoor hearth, where he could now see his mother bent over a pot, stirring something, while his two little sisters played nearby.

Sapel looked up at his tall, regal father striding with self-assurance and strength through the grass, his long black hair tied with a thong and falling down his back, his hunting knife at his waist and spear in his hand, long legs clad in fringed buckskin, bronzed chest bare in the hot afternoon sun.

"Papa..." the boy asked hesitantly. "Do you ever wish you could go home again?"

Spock turned to look down at his son and a reassuring smile lifted the corners of his lips. "We _are_ home, Sapel," he said and turned back to his valley.

 

END OF PART ONE

PART TWO – "TERRA TWO" – FOLLOWS


	2. Year Two -- Terra Two

**Present Day**

The morning sun was well above the horizon as Spock dogged down the last rope holding their possessions to the travois frame. There was a decided chill in the air and he knew they were not setting out a moment too soon. It had taken them about two weeks to prepare for their journey south and now he looked around their summer homesite one last time.

"Is everyone ready?" he asked the members of his family.

"All set," Christine responded, settling the baby's carrier onto her back and taking up her walking stick, then seeing to her middle child. Four-year-old T'Jenn was too small to carry a pack but she insisted on being given charge of little T'Kai's bedding. The baby's sleeping wrap enclosed her few items of clothing and Christine had permitted T'Jenn to carry that across her back.

Sapel, at ten already nearly grown, hefted his own pack into place and went to stand beside his father. "I double checked, Papa," he said. "We've got everything."

"Very good," Spock acknowledged with a hint of amusement. "In that case, Sapel, lead us out."

The boy grinned and took up the lead rein of the little horse-like creature that was harnessed to the travois. Dubbed "Mezzie," for her species resembled more than anything the proto-equine _mesohippus_ , the little animal balked for a second then started forward, pulling the loaded travois behind her. T'Jenn scampered up to walk beside her brother and Spock and Christine took up the rear.

"I always feel so sad when we leave in the fall," Christine smiled up at her tall husband. "I love this valley so much."

"It is an ideal home for most of the year," Spock agreed. "However, you know very well that it is logical to move to a more temperate climate during cold weather."

"Of course," the woman agreed patiently. "I haven't forgotten how hard that first winter was here. It only makes sense to follow the herds south."

They were silent for a while as their little party left behind the valley where they had lived since being marooned here eleven years before. The creek that flowed past their campsite continued on until emptying into a small river about a mile downstream. The river was their guide south for it meandered about 200 miles, growing larger as it went, before emptying into the ocean.

That was their destination — the wide warm gulf that regulated the climate into a fairly snow-free winter was home to the flocks of waterfowl and shore birds that migrated from the northern regions, and it also provided abundant seafood in their nets.

The herds of horses, antelope and bison moved there as well, lured by the endless grass that grew on the coastal plains that stretched for miles from the higher prairies down to the sea. There were other animals that lived there year-round. The region was far from a tropical paradise, but it provided abundant food during the months when hunger stalked the land farther north.

Sapel, leading the way, turned them south before reaching the river itself. The trail followed the bluffs overlooking the waterway and the boy was well acquainted with the path.

As they moved beyond sight of their valley, Christine turned to catch one last glimpse of it and could just make out the escarpment and the waterfall that winked silver in the distance. She couldn't help thinking of the first time they had made this journey, so long ago. She had felt that she was leaving behind all that she had known and was stepping off into the blackness of the mysterious future...

* * *

**Year Two**

Christine shifted the baby into a more comfortable position and tucked his fur covering closer around his body. Then she faced back into the wind and squinted at the figure of her husband approaching. He had been gone for two days and she could already see that he was returning empty-handed. She went to meet him, feeling his dejection and fatigue through their bondlink.

Spock's face brightened a bit at the sight of his wife and son but nothing could lift the gloom of his mood. As they came together, he bent down and embraced Christine warmly, then exchanged a long welcoming kiss with her. Sapel squirmed between them and protested, and Spock ran the back of one finger lightly down the baby's cheek, smiling affectionately.

"No luck at all?" Christine asked, her blue eyes reflecting her worry.

Spock shook his head and guided her in the direction of their home. "I only found small game and not much of that," he answered wearily. "I suppose I could try for elk again."

"No!" Christine responded at once. "After last year I don't ever want you hunting big game alone again."

"It _did_ provide us with enough meat to last the winter," he pointed out.

"And nearly got you killed! No, something will turn up. We can try farther down the river or range farther afield..."

"Christine, I have been twenty miles in almost every direction," Spock sighed in exasperation. "There is no game. The drought has forced everything out of the area."

"The fishing is still good in the river," she answered hopefully, grasping at straws. "We can catch and salt enough fish—"

He grimaced. "We can't live the winter on salted fish. I can barely get it down in any case."

"Well ... I don't see much alternative," she replied, frustrated.

Sapel picked up his parents' agitated moods through their telepathic link and began to fuss. Christine tried to soothe her eight-month-old son but felt close to crying herself.

In truth, she didn't know what they were going to do. It had been a brutal summer, the temperatures soaring far over 100 degrees for weeks and no rain to speak of. The previous summer, their first one here, had been idyllic in comparison and they had fared well. But this year, after early spring showers, the skies had remained an unrelenting blue, darkened only occasionally by brief storms that dropped heavy rain for a half hour or so and then moved on without leaving behind enough moisture to do any good.

The plains had turned yellow early on, then brown and dusty. Often the landscape seemed to be smoldering, on the verge of bursting into flame, as the hungry animals scratched the fine dust into a low-lying fog that hovered over the parched land until blown away by the unending winds. Slowly the herds began to dwindle and vanish as they moved on in search of better pasture.

For a while hunting was easy because Spock could simply lie in wait near their pond, one of the few sources of water in the area that never ran dry. But even it began to drop and the animals that came down to drink began to be wary of the new danger there, avoiding it as much as they could.

Spock and Christine turned to food sources that they normally wouldn't have bothered with. The game he began bringing home just barely qualified as edible and she spent long hours searching for tubers and seed cones to supplement their meager food stores. It was hard work gathering them and harder work preparing them to eat. The seed cones especially took a lot of work.

They resembled pine cones with fat-rich seeds inside, but these had to be teased out of the sticky resin that coated them, then roasted on flat stones to break off the husks. These then had to be cracked and winnowed and the seeds roasted once more before being ground into a paste that could be spread out like a pancake and cooked crisp. It was delicious but it took all day to prepare a meal.

As Spock and Christine reached the little cave they called home, he tiredly propped his spear, bow and quiver up against the wall and went back to the sleeping furs spread at the back of the cave. The slump in his shoulders worried her. She didn't know if he was merely exhausted or on the verge of giving up.

Pulling his leather shirt off over his head, Spock negligently tossed it to one side and then stretched out on his back, sighing heavily. Putting the baby down, Christine went to kneel beside him, stroking her fingertips down his cheek.

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "I shall try again tomorrow," he said. "I haven't gone east yet. Perhaps the woods..."

"Just rest tonight, love," she interrupted him. "We're not destitute yet."

He quirked up an eyebrow at her and responded in a deep baritone rumble, "The eternal optimist."

"One of us has to be," she answered, smiling. Sapel had crawled over to his parents, testing out his new-found mobility. Christine picked him up and sat him on his father's chest. "Here, watch your son while I get supper."

Spock slipped a hand around either side of the baby to steady him. "You know, after eight months, I would expect you to be pulling your weight around here," he told the baby conversationally.

Sapel responded by trying to get hold of Spock's unshaven chin and voicing a stream of gibberish. Then he did something Spock did not expect. The child locked his big brown eyes on his father's and held them ... And Spock was suddenly very, very hungry.

Both his eyebrows went up. "Sapel wants to eat," Spock commented to his wife.

"Sapel always wants to eat," she answered, her back to him as she heated stew.

"No, I mean he told me he wants to eat."

Christine looked around at him. "What?"

"I wasn't sure he would inherit Vulcan telepathic abilities, but he just sent me a very clear directive." Spock peered appraisingly at his little son who was now sitting with his fist stuck in his mouth and sucking on it.

"Oh, good," Christine answered with a lop-sided, skeptical smile. "So now the two of you can talk about me behind my back." She shook her head. "Come get your supper and I'll see to that one."

She arranged herself cross-legged on the sleeping furs and took the child, cradling him in the crook of her arm as she opened her shirt and put him to her breast. Sapel closed his eyes and settled down to nursing, his little face utterly contented.

Spock propped himself up on one elbow and quietly watched his wife nurse their child. Softly, he reached up and caressed her other breast. She glanced up at him, caught by the love in his eyes. She smiled. "I thought you were tired."

"I am, but I think I should be rested well enough later," he answered in a low voice. "Once Sapel is down, I believe my energy level might go up a bit."

She smiled broadly and chuckled. "Something will, anyway." She laughed again at his wry expression. "Right now, go eat your supper before it gets cold." She shook her head. "Eternal optimist, indeed!"

* * *

Christine checked one more time to make sure that the baby was asleep in his little cradle then turned back to where Spock was waiting for her in their bed. He was watching her appreciatively and, on impulse, she did a slow strip for him, removing one item of clothing after another with deliberation and as much sensuality as she could. Never taking his eyes off her, he enjoyed the show with open interest.

Finally, she tossed the last article of clothing over her shoulder and froze in a provocative post. Smiling broadly, he clapped softly. "Bravo! What do you do for an encore?"

"Oh, the proprietor of the house gets his own personal performance," she responded and slipped under the furs with him, moving into his waiting arms. Their lips came together and she felt the tip of his tongue probe against her mouth. Eagerly, she opened her lips and responded in kind. The kiss deepened as their tongues fenced with each other and he drew her harder against him. Running one hand down the smooth line of her back, he cupped her buttocks and pulled her pelvis against his, his erection caught between them.

His lips moved from her mouth down her throat and she tipped her chin back to give him better access, her fingers burying themselves in the thick strands of his jet black hair. "Mmmmmm," she murmured. "Perhaps you should go away more often if this is how you come home."

"I thought of you constantly, _t'hy'la_ ," he answered, gently biting the flesh of her throat and then soothing it with his tongue and lips.

"Maybe that's why you didn't catch anything," she teased. "You were too busy thinking about getting me in bed."

"I can do two things at once," he answered, his deep voice filled with amusement. "For instance..."

Abruptly, he rolled her over onto her back and his lips descended to her breast while the hand he'd had on her hip moved between her legs. As he licked at her distended nipples, his fingers worked their magic at the core of her femininity.

She writhed beneath his delicious touch, but warned, "You're liable to get a mouth full if you keep that up."

He replied with a noise deep in his throat and nuzzled between her breasts, kissing them. "Have I ever told you how sexually exciting it is to me when you open your clothing to nurse Sapel and your breasts are so full that they are dripping? I often find myself getting an erection at the very thought of them."

"Spock! Are you kidding me?!"

"Of course not. You are at the very pinnacle of female power. That stimulates my masculine response tremendously."

She laughed, half embarrassed and half intrigued. "Oh, so you intend to keep me barefoot and pregnant from now on, hmm? Just so you can get horny watching me breastfeed."

"You won't get pregnant right now," he answered off-handedly, returning his attention to the soft globe beneath his lips.

"What? Don't tell me you believe those old stories that a woman can't get pregnant while breastfeeding?" she chuckled.

"I can tell by your scent," he answered.

"Excuse me?"

"Your pheromones change when you are ovulating. Your skin smells different than it does now." He looked up at her, suddenly more serious. "In any case, I would not be making love to you if I thought you would conceive, Christine. I would not be so selfish as to satisfy my own sexual desires at the risk to your health and well-being."

She sighed and caressed his face, her blue eyes soft with adoration. "I know that, my darling," she answered. "And I wouldn't allow you to. I know what my cycle is and it's safe right now, but I can't tell you how much I love you for that."

His voice suddenly sounded deep within her mind. _You do not have to tell me, t'hy'la... I feel it within you whenever we touch._

Her love for him surged and she seized his face between her hands, pressing his lips to her breast. The sexual image that she sent to him nearly overwhelmed his control and he buried his face against her, kissing her torrid flesh until she was moaning in ecstasy.

The heat between them built quickly and in a few moments he found that he could wait no longer. His intent radiated itself through their bond and she eagerly sent it back in answer, magnified. It was all he needed and he shifted purposefully into position above her, settling between her welcoming thighs. Gazing down into her hungry eyes, he pressed into her entryway and then with one strong, sure thrust he was within her. The sensation of her slick, tight passage gripping his throbbing manhood was nearly more than he could withstand and he sank into her arms, letting his hips fall into their insistent, instinctive rhythm. She moved with him, her nails biting into the muscles of his back.

They lost themselves within the combustibility of their moving bodies and the flying sparks of their melding thoughts. The fire of his urgency and the fuel of her acceptance merged together into a blaze that roared up and swept them away on the spiral of its rising heat. His thrusts became harder and deeper, the building explosion rose to an unbearable pitch. She arched her back beneath his laboring body and slipped her hands down to grasp his tight buttocks, willing his fire to fill her now ... _N_ _ow!!_

It was the final goad he needed and it sent the conflagration within him into a full firestorm. He gripped her hard and slammed into her with a breathless gasp, the full release of his climax surging into her.

They held still, shuddering hard together, until the blaze ebbed and returned to the warmth of one body against another. Still breathing hard, he moved off her and rolled onto his back, lying close to her comforting presence, eyes closed.

After a while, she snuggled against his shoulder and drew a soft finger along the curve of his ear. Spock moved his head away from her touch for a moment and she dropped her hand onto his collarbone. "You _are_ tired, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he answered then looked at her and laid his palm atop hers. "I'm sorry, _t'hy'la_. In the morning ..."

Christine smiled in understanding. "You don't have to apologize to me, sweetheart. Truth be told, I'm pretty tired myself. I just thought you might want to..."

He brought her fingers up to his lips and kissed them lightly. "Even a Vulcan has a limit to his stamina," he smiled ruefully. "I just need to sleep."

They settled into their slumber positions but Christine could feel his continued alertness through their bond and knew that he was not asleep. She also knew that he was shielding his thoughts from her and finally she said in a near whisper, "A husband should not keep his thoughts from his wife, _s'hy'la_."

He turned on his side and gathered her close to him. "You have come to know me too well, wife," his deep voice murmured against her hair.

"So, what's keeping you awake?"

"I was merely thinking about our situation and what we need to do," he answered.

"And?"

Spock was silent for a long moment then Christine heard him sigh. "I see no alternative for us. We must go south with the herds. We will simply not survive another winter if we stay here."

"But go where?" she responded, a thin note of fear moving through her.

"I don't know yet. We've been no farther than about 20 miles from this valley. Perhaps it is time to see what the rest of this planet looks like." He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. "Who knows? Perhaps we have been living in a very harsh area and the rest is a veritable paradise."

"Or this may _be_ the garden spot of this planet and the rest is a desert."

His deep chuckle was soft in the darkness. "A desert is not so bad, _t'hy'la_. I did not find it distressing to grow up in one." He kissed her shoulder. "Now, sleep while you can. I suspect you will be summoned in a few hours by your son there."

" _Your_ son, you mean," Christine retorted. "I didn't know that his father had a thing for boobs, too!"

"Sleep, woman! You wear me out with your talking!"

Grinning, Christine closed her eyes and snuggled into him. "Yes, husband. I obey your commands."

"Sleep!"

* * *

Christine couldn't help it. She was shaking with fear as she and Spock walked away from the only home they had known here. Tears trembled in her eyes and she quickly dashed them away before they could fall and betray her. To hide her face, she looked down at Sapel who was strapped in his carrying sling across her chest, his weight counterbalanced by the pack on her back. It was heavy but Spock carried one that was over twice as cumbersome.

They had packed carefully, carrying all that they could manage, mostly food and bedding and whatever else might be useful. The rest they had buried at the back of their cave, hoping to preserve it should they ever return.

As they topped their bluff and started down toward the river, Christine paused and looked back once more. Below she could see the entryway to their cave, Spock's hide-covered gateway securely in place. The poles of the frame used for stretching hides had been dismantled and stored inside but she could clearly see where she had worked for such long hours, tanning leather and making their clothing. Nearby was the outdoor hearth, cold now, its ashes black inside its circle of stones. Farther away a trail led down to the shore of the little pool where she and Spock swam on hot days and frequently made love underneath the spray of the waterfall.

Looking at it objectively, the campsite wasn't much, but it had become home. It had been a miracle that they had found such a sheltered enclave after the Romulans had stranded them here. They were meant to die within a few days of starvation or predation by the carnivores that roamed the plains. Instead, they had built a comfortable life here and, suddenly faced with leaving it behind and venturing into the unknown wilderness stretching before her, Christine felt her throat choke with fear. This valley was all the security she had here and she was afraid to leave it.

Spock came up beside her, feeling the surge of her emotions through their bondlink, and put an arm around her waist, the packs they carried making the movement awkward. Still, she leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. She didn't have to say anything and he pressed her face against him, gently stroking her hair. When he felt her reach some level of comfort, he tilted her chin up and bent a little to kiss her.

"Don't look back," he said softly, his brown eyes serious and full of affection. She smiled shakily and reached up to trace her fingertips along the dark line of one eyebrow, brushing the meld point at his temple and sending reassurance to him.

"Yes, husband," she whispered, feeling the warmth of his strength and courage wash over her. Suddenly she felt safe again at his side and thought again how much Spock must resemble one of his early ancestors, the primitive Vulcans who had lived wild and free on the rolling plains in the northern reaches of his planet.

His long black hair teased around his angular features and the stubble of a two day beard that shadowed his cheeks. Despite their hardships, he had maintained a clean-shaven face, using his sharp steel Romulan knife as a straight razor. Now he'd decided not to bother while they were on the move. Christine wasn't sure she liked it, but couldn't blame him.

She chuckled to herself, thinking of the things that had once been important to her and no longer mattered. The short uniform skirts on board the ship had required her to keep her legs smooth and hairless and, like most women, she'd had a standing appointment every three months to have them "done".

Now that seemed so silly. In the daily struggle to prepare food and care for her baby and see to everything else she had to do, having her legs depilated seemed the height of foolishness. Spock didn't care one way or another. She'd lamented over it once and received a lecture on how illogical it was to waste time over something so impermanent. He couldn't find an answer, however, when she demanded to know why he insisted on shaving every day.

Now she looked fondly over at her rather scruffy husband and smiled at his inquiring glance. "Lord, what a pair we are!" she commented and set out beside him on the trail south.

* * *

"What is it?" Christine whispered, crouching in the tall grass beside Spock and holding Sapel close.

"I don't know," Spock answered in a like whisper. "Just be very quiet and don't attract its attention."

The two people made themselves as small as possible and watched as, up ahead, the gigantic animal tore at the carcass of a beast even larger. The prey animal was as big as an elephant but was covered with coarse brown hair, its heavy forelimbs tipped with enormous claws. The creature that was ripping its belly open resembled an enormous lion, the size of a modern horse or larger. It thrust its huge head into the evisceration and pulled it back out a moment later covered with blood and nameless bits of flesh, its teeth sunk into a dark red organ, probably the liver.

Holding the meat in its forepaws, it ripped away a thin strip and then sat back on its haunches like a dog begging and gave a low grunt. Immediately its own belly seemed to split open and something emerged, snatched the dangling meat strip and then disappeared again.

Christine reached out and gripped Spock's arm. "It's a marsupial!" she hissed in amazement. "It's got a baby in its pouch!"

"Fascinating!" was all Spock had to say, his eyes still riveted on the scene before him.

The marsupial lion went back to feeding herself, ripping out chunks of the liver and swallowing them whole. In a moment, they saw the reason for her haste.

With a roar, an even larger lion thundered up to the carcass, narrowly missing the female who snatched her prize and ran the opposite direction. The new arrival, probably a male, chased her a few feet then turned back to what was now his kill. With a grunt of satisfaction, he settled in to gorge. The female didn't go far, circling around to await her chance again at the prey.

Crushed against his mother's chest, Sapel squirmed and began to whimper fretfully.

Both lions jerked their heads up and stared in the direction of the noise.

Spock cut his eyes fearfully over to Christine, sending the mental command, _Keep him quiet!_

She was already working on it. Quickly, she pulled her blouse open and pressed a nipple to the baby's mouth. He refused it at first, then instinct took over and he latched on to his mother's breast and began to suckle. Both adults breathed a shaky sigh of relief, hoping that the lure of the meat would outweigh any other concern the lions might have. They froze motionless for several long minutes, watching as the big lion went back to his feeding and the female turned her attention back to watching him do so.

When he felt that they could move, Spock silently motioned Christine to make her way as quietly and unobtrusively as possible to one side. Using the tall yellow grass as cover, the two inched away from the carnivores, Spock with an arrow nocked in his bow and ready to fire.

When they were well away from the site of the kill, Spock straightened and Christine followed his example. "That was too close," she said.

"Nevertheless, we should have expected it. I believe a smaller version of this predator, or at least a cousin of it, inhabits the area of our valley," Spock replied. "We must be doubly cautious. And we must be even more protective and watchful of Sapel. An infant would be a very tempting target for any large predator."

"That's an understatement!" Christine agreed tightly, glad that her baby was nestled against her body in his carrying cloth, asleep now against her breast. She took a moment to refasten her tunic.

"We need to find a campsite," Spock told her, urging her toward an outcropping of rocks about a mile away. "That might prove a good spot. We can survey the land from that vantage point."

"I just hope the lions don't have the same idea," she answered. "I think I read once that lions like to make their dens in places where they can see all around them."

"Hmmm ... You may be right," Spock responded thoughtfully. "But we shall scout it nevertheless. If it is clear, we can use it. Come. We only have about two hours of daylight left and I should not like to be on these plains at night. I fear that these lions may be night hunters as well."

* * *

It took them a good hour to reach and climb into the rocky outcropping they had spotted. Unfortunately, before they had gone very far, it became abundantly clear that this particular hill was occupied. Animal odor was strong and there were pugmarks and scat in the dirt of the trail.

Spock halted and cautiously directed Christine to go back the way they had come. His senses were tingling with danger here, the hair on the back of his neck prickling in alarm. They skirted the outcropping and made their way on to higher ground beyond this outpost on the plains. The land began to slope up into a set of rolling hills and here the air was cleaner, not tainted by the musk of carnivores.

Reaching a clearing that suited him just as the sun was sinking behind the hills, Spock called a halt and shrugged his heavy pack off his shoulders. Christine dropped hers as well, grateful to be rid of the load. Awakened by the change in activity, Sapel pushed himself up against his mother's chest and looked around, blinking sleepily.

As they had done on previous evenings, the first order of business was to build a fire, both for safety's sake and warmth. Spock gathered kindling and got the fire going while Christine set Sapel down and began unloading the things they would need for supper and sleep.

"Should we set the tent up?" she asked.

Spock paused as the blaze crackled and did a quick survey of their surroundings. "Yes. It is already cooling and I think the night will be too cold to sleep outdoors. In any case, this place might do for a few days' rest. We have come a long way."

"Do you think we're far enough away from the lions' territory though?" she asked.

"I will sit up tonight and keep watch," he answered, blocking his son's grab toward the bright fire. "No! Hurt!" he said strongly to the baby. Sapel blinked at him, then his face crumbled up and he let out a wail. Spock lightly touched the baby's temple with one finger and immediately the noise shut off.

"What did you just do?" Christine asked, puzzled and a little alarmed.

"A Vulcan technique of teaching small children," he responded. "When a child is too young to understand language commands, a parent sometimes communicates telepathically on a very basic level. I merely taught him that fire burns. He will not be physically harmed now, but understands that touching fire is bad."

"Hmmm ... next time he gets me up in the wee hours of the morning, I'll just send you to convince him that he's not hungry and needs to let his old Mom sleep!"

Spock simply made a low noise in his throat in reply and turned back to putting wood on the fire. Once it was burning satisfactorily, he helped Christine set up their small tent and arrange their campsite. Then they broke out some of their rations and prepared supper.

The night descended quickly, it being the time of the new moons, and the early winter sky darkened rapidly, scattered with stars. After eating their meal of jerky and journey bread, a mixture of grain and fruit mashed into round cakes, Spock and Christine got ready for the night. He took his spear and went to sit on boulder at the edge of their camp, alert for any danger that might threaten them. Christine wrapped their food back up and stored it in its pouch, then hung this up as high as she could from a tree limb. The food they carried had little odor and should not attract hungry animals.

She took a little bowl of water and heated it a bit, then spent time giving Sapel his bath, playing with him for a while, and then finally cradling him in her arms and humming him to sleep. Once she was certain that he wouldn't wake up, she gently placed him on the bedding inside their tent and closed the flap, securing it against insects and other small intruders.

Walking across their camp, she sat down beside Spock on the boulder, hugging her fur tunic around her. "It is getting chilly," she said softly. "I don't think we've gone far enough south to get away from winter yet."

"We never intended to entirely," he answered, still alert to their surroundings. "I merely expect to escape the snow and the worst of the cold weather."

She nodded and let her gaze move up to the sky. The brilliant stars were flung in unfamiliar constellations, the drift of a nebula's rosy arm faintly visible among them. "Where do you suppose we are?" she asked, almost rhetorically.

He let his eyes move upward for a moment. "I have pondered that question many times," he replied somberly. "I believe that orange star there might possibly be Antares but I cannot be certain. Without other reference points, it is impossible to tell."

"We traveled for about two days in the Romulan ship after we were taken from Deep Space 4," she mused.

"But in which direction? At what speed? Exactly how long?" Spock shook his head. "I have run the problem over and over in my mind. There are too many unknown factors, Christine. Perhaps we are in the Neutral Zone somewhere, perhaps in Romulan space itself. All that I am certain of is that I do not recognize any of these constellations from our astronomical charts. With the proper equipment, I could analyze the spectra of the individual stars and identify them that way, but it is impossible under our present circumstances."

She sighed heavily. "Something in me still hopes for rescue, but I know that's a remote possibility."

"Extremely remote," he agreed. "I'm afraid this is going to be our home for a very long time ... Quite possibly for the rest of our lives."

They sat silently for a while after that, listening to the sounds of the night. There weren't many insects this late in the season but far out on the plains they could hear faint roars that they assumed were made by the marsupial lions. A few night flyers chirruped as they swooped in search of flying bugs still about, and back in the woods they could hear a high pitched piping from some animal they'd never seen. Hopefully it was innocuous.

"Do you ever miss home?" she asked softly some time later, pulling her knees up and hugging them.

"Of course. It would be illogical not to expect to yearn for the things we cannot have."

"I miss the little things," she answered contemplatively. "Cheese. I'd kill for a slice of cheese. Or a nice cold glass of milk. And music. Books. Curling up in a sweater and an old pair of blue jeans."

"Chess," he responded in the same soft tone, matching her mood. "And music, yes. My _ka'athyra_ ..."

"What?"

"My Vulcan lyre. I miss playing it."

She nodded. "Chocolate," she continued. "Coffee. A real bath in a real bathtub in a real bathroom!" Her eyes began to blur with tears. "And our friends ... Oh, God — Leonard and Nyota and all the others! And my sisters!"

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, her ragged emotions tearing at him through their bond.

"I think this topic has gone far enough," he said gently. "There is no purpose in making yourself needlessly miserable. You are tired and it is time you slept. I will make sure that all is well tonight."

She nuzzled her face into his shoulder then looked up into his eyes, the pupils black and huge as his night vision worked at its full capacity. He leaned toward her and met her lips in a strong, reassuring kiss. "Sleep now, _t'hy'la_ , he whispered.

She hugged him and then got to her feet, leaving him to keep watch during the long night.

* * *

Christine awoke with a wonderful warmth pressed against her back and a little hand on her nose. She opened her eyes to find Sapel with his baby face pressed right up to hers, peering intently into her eyes, his petite Vulcan features making Christine think right away that this must have been what Spock looked like as a baby.

Behind her, Spock obviously picked up on her thought because he chuckled and answered, "No, I look like my maternal grandfather. Sapel looks like you."

"Stop reading my mind," she murmured lazily. She stretched and rolled over onto her back, looking up at her husband. He was fully dressed, propped on one elbow and smiling down at her. "Did you ever come to bed?"

"Not until dawn," he answered. "It was a quiet night and I determined that no animals would bother us here. I felt Sapel stirring and came to tend to him."

"Ah ... so that's what both my men are doing up," she answered with a sleepy smile. "I didn't hear him cry, though."

"No. You told me to tell him to let you sleep, so I did."

She stared up at him incredulously. Spock looked wounded at her disbelief and addressed his son directly. "Sapel, did I not ask you to let Mama sleep this morning?"

"Ba!" the baby answered happily, showing all six of his teeth in a wide smile.

"There. You have his word on it!"

"Right," Christine replied skeptically. "Did you feed him as well?"

Spock peered back innocently. "I'm afraid that will have to remain your department for a while yet." Then he let his features soften. "Actually, I did give him a bit of cooked cereal. Are you hungry? It's still warming by the fire. It hasn't thickened into concrete yet!"

She laughed. "It does get pretty pasty, doesn't it? Okay, I'm up, I suppose. Have you eaten?"

"I was waiting to have first meal with you," he answered. "I'll get the cereal."

He stood and ducked under the tent flap. Christine sat up and picked up her baby. "So, you're a big boy eating cereal now, hmm? Bet you need something to wash it down with, don't you?" She settled him into the crook of her arm and put him to her breast, where he closed his eyes and began to nurse contentedly.

Spock returned with two bowls full of what looked like oatmeal, steam rising from the tan porridge. After handing Christine hers, he sat gracefully, cross-legged, and they spent a quiet half‑hour over their breakfast. Mid-way, Christine gently disengaged her infant from her left breast and transferred him to her right, hardly missing a beat.

Breakfast finished, Spock stretched the muscles in his back and got to his feet. "Now, I am going to meditate for a bit. I won't be gone long."

"Would you rather sleep?"

"No. Meditation will serve the same purpose. I will stay within calling distance if you need me." He kissed her lightly and slipped out of the tent.

The early morning was cold but not unpleasantly so. Christine had become acclimated to the seasons of this world and found the sharp briskness refreshing. She dressed Sapel in the bunting and boots she had made for him, donned her own fur tunic and went out to survey their new campsite.

It had been getting dark the previous evening when they had arrived. She hadn't been able to look around. Now she did so and she liked what she saw. Their camp was in a clearing of tall pine-like trees, their straight clean trunks rising like the columns of a temple to the dark green canopy overhead. The ground beneath was free of brush but covered with a carpet of coppery pine needles, the morning sun breaking through the branches in slanting shafts of pure light. In the clearing, the rocky base was covered with a layer of soft brown soil but breaking through the soil and dominating the features of the landscape was pinkish-gray granite, its crystals sparkling slightly in the sun. Back in the direction they had come, Christine could see the plains sweeping to the north and the line of the river snaking its way south, marked by a line of brushy trees.

It was a beautiful landscape and in the quiet of the early morning, she became aware of a faint musical sound, almost beyond the range of hearing. Shifting Sapel into his sling on her back, she set off to find it, curious. The sound led her into the trees, farther up the hillside. She was very careful to mark the trail and not lose her way back to camp and determined that she would turn back before going very far.

Fortunately, she found the source of the sound quite nearby. It was a little spring gurgling up from a crack in the granite and then running down a natural trough until it was lost to her sight. Christine bent and caught a little of the water in the palm of her hand, bringing it up to her nose, smelling carefully for any telltale odor. There was none and she touched the tip of her tongue to it.

While there was a slight mineral taste, the water was cool and pure, filtered through the stone until all impurities were removed. She took a larger sip, testing it against her tongue before swallowing it. A smile of wonder spread over her face. It was the best water she'd ever drunk, like the fine mineral waters served in restaurants to the wealthy. She caught and drank another handful but then prudently decided not to take anymore until she'd evaluated how her body reacted. Sometimes things that seemed entirely harmless turned out to have a hidden punch.

Their Romulan food tester that had been part of the survival pack left with them still worked, although its power source was beginning to fail after nearly two years. Still, it would be helpful and she decided to bring a sample of the water back to camp for a more thorough testing. Then she'd begin to scout the area for food plants that they might use. Humming happily to herself, Christine started back to camp to retrieve a bowl and her gathering basket.

She met Spock coming back from his meditation. But far from looking rested and content, he seemed tense. "Break camp," he ordered without preamble. "We're leaving here."

"What's happened?" she asked, now picking up on his concern. "I was beginning to like this place. I thought we might stay."

"No." He began gathering their things and starting the process of packing up. "I found lion spoor all around the camp. I heard or suspected nothing last night while I kept watch, even though they were within attack range. Probably only the fire and our strangeness kept them away. We can't risk another night here."

"Oh, my God," she gasped and set Sapel down where they could both keep an eye on him while they took down the tent and got everything stowed in their backpacks. They were practiced at this. It took them less than an hour to be on their way.

As they started higher into the hills, Christine glanced back at their camp and pondered aloud, "Do you think they'll track us?"

"I don't know," Spock replied grimly. "Hopefully they will prove to be territorial and will not go far from the plains and the tree line. In any case, I want to put as much distance as possible between us and them."

Spock pushed them relentlessly, seeming to follow some map of his own. Finally Christine simply stopped and refused to go any farther without a rest. Sapel was fussing as well, hungry and wet. Christine found a rock large enough to sit on and lowered herself onto it, taking Sapel out of his carrying sling. Spock turned back and stood staring pointedly at her.

She refused to budge. "Spock, we must have come five miles. I've got to take a break!"

"It is unwise," he answered.

"Then it's unwise, but my feet are killing me and, anyway, I've got to feed and change the baby. And let's have a bite to eat, too. I'm starved!"

He hesitated for a long moment, then gave in. "Very well. Perhaps we _have_ come far enough to be out of the lions' territory." Still keeping a wary eye out, Spock slipped off his backpack and helped Christine off with hers. While he dug out some journey bread and venison jerky for them, Christine found Sapel's diaper stuffing and changed out the wet absorbent material inside the soft chamois that held it in place.

Once done, she poured a little water from their waterbag over each hand and then rubbed them vigorously with a handful of leaves she had grabbed. It was makeshift handwashing at best, but better than nothing. Then, unlacing the front of her tunic enough to bare a breast, she set her baby to nursing.

Spock didn't have eyes for her today, but kept up a watchful scrutiny of their surroundings as they ate their meager lunch. He had conceded to the logic of eating meat nearly a year before and, although he still felt a pang of guilt and a bit of revulsion when he did so, he had finally admitted that he had no choice.

As soon as Sapel had finished nursing and Christine had rested a bit, he urged her to her feet and they set out once more. The area they were in consisted of miles of craggy, rolling hills, stretching as far as the eye could see. Pinkish granite outcroppings broke through the thin soil everywhere although the overlying rock in many places seemed to be a gray-white limestone. Vegetation ranged from thick pine forests to thorny scrub to grassy clearings, broken by numerous gullies and little creeks that had eroded their way into the limestone.

Late that afternoon, they came out onto a wide mesa, mostly meadow, but high enough to afford a good view of the hills undulating into the hazy distance. It was windy and cold here on the top of this hill, the stunted grasses bent before the prevailing wind. Even Spock seemed to be tired now and he paused to gaze out at the horizon, gathering his thoughts and deciding their next course. While he did so, Christine sank down onto her knees and rocked Sapel against her shoulder, hushing his exhausted whimpers.

Abruptly, Spock took a few steps forward and halted again, staring fixedly at something she couldn't see.

"Spock?" she asked in curiosity.

"Christine, please verify this," he answered in a strained voice. "I scarcely believe my own sight at the moment."

She managed to get to her feet and came to stand beside him. "What are you talking about?" She scanned the landscape but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. What was he looking at? A herd of antelope? A strange animal? Smoke?

"There," he said, pointing. "Do you see it, too?"

"What? Where?"

"Just to the right of that shattered pine."

Christine looked hard and saw it, a spark of light glinting off something bright, far away on the side of a hill. She squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand, then rubbed them and stared once more. Her heart leaped into her throat and she felt her legs nearly give way beneath her.

Grasping at her husband's arm for support, she managed to get the words out. "My God! Oh, my God! Spock — I think it's a ship!"

* * *

It _was_ a ship. A crashed ship. And it looked like it had been there a long time. Spock and Christine crouched far enough away to thoroughly observe the space vehicle, watching and listening for any sign of life.

There was none. Except for the sound of the wind and birds cheeping and twittering in the trees, all was silent. After a very long while, Spock rose and cautiously made his way closer, directing Christine to stay hidden with Sapel. While he was gone, she kept up her vigil and studied the ship more closely.

The design was unfamiliar, about the size of a conventional house, long and sleek. It looked civilian and was probably a personal yacht, not a military or commercial craft. The warp nacelle on this side looked okay, but the way the ship was burrowed into the hillside made her think that the starboard nacelle had likely been shorn away. Dirt and scree from the hillside had cascaded down over part of the hull and had grass and ground vines growing in it, falling down the ship's side. This crash had been here for at least a couple of years, she decided, probably longer.

Spock came walking back in their direction, apparently satisfied that all was safe, for his gait was casual. "It's all right," he told her and helped her to her feet. "This appears to be a private ship, perhaps a runabout for some wealthy merchant. I only found the pilot on board."

"Dead."

"Long dead. I left him where he lay in the cockpit. We will give him a suitable burial a bit later."

"Are there any supplies on board? Anything we could use?"

"Possibly. I did not explore thoroughly. My purpose was to ascertain if there was anyone aboard." They began walking back toward the ship. "I will need to examine the power grid and other ship's systems to see if they are operational, but I believe we might be able to make use of this vessel."

"Do you think so? I can't believe this thing could fly again," she answered.

"I did not say that it would fly, Christine," he replied. "A cursory inspection indicates that it is no longer capable of leaving the ground. I was referring to shelter. If this proves suitable, we will appropriate this ship as our home. Who knows? It may even have a bathtub on board!"

* * *

The ship's pilot was, unsurprisingly, Romulan. It only confirmed further their suspicion that they were in Romulan space. Christine found a blanket made of something like wool in one of the two sleeping compartments and she and Spock wrapped the body in it, then Spock carried it to a long crevice they had found in the rocky hillside and laid him to rest there, covering the cairn with a thick layer of stones. They didn't have tools to dig a grave and the soil was too shallow in any case to dig a suitable one.

When the last stone had been placed, Spock and Christine stood back and by unspoken agreement paid reverence to the unknown man. Christine bowed her head in silence, but Spock murmured something in Vulcan and then made a sign with one hand. She glanced at him curiously, but saw the focused, solemn expression on his face and so did not question him. After a few moments, they turned and made their way back to the ship.

"What did you say back there?" she asked quietly.

"A prayer in the Old Tongue," he answered. "It is called _na'Tha'thhya_ , wishing a soul good journey to its ancestors."

He glanced over at her, seeming a bit embarrassed. "I realize that it is not logical or in keeping with the Vulcan way of life, but many still use it as a sign of respect for the dead."

"I think it's lovely," she responded.

Uncomfortable, he shrugged and turned back.

It was late in the day now and as they arrived back at the little ship, Christine paused at the hatchway and said, "I don't want to sleep in there tonight. It's dusty and smells bad and, just because you didn't find any other people, doesn't mean there aren't critters in there."

Spock raised an eyebrow at her. "Critters?" he repeated.

"Critters. Varmints. Snakes. Spiders. Things you wouldn't necessary want climbing in bed with you."

"I understood you," he answered patiently. "I was merely amused at your choice of words."

"Just something my grandfather used to call them."

"My grandfather called them _ti'kat_ , but it means the same thing," Spock responded with a smile. "I agree with you, however. We will make camp as usual tonight and tomorrow we will thoroughly explore this wreck." His eyes twinkled suddenly as he continued in a soft, husky voice, "I can think of only one 'critter' I would want climbing into my bed." His arm slipped around her waist and he pulled her against him.

" _Ti'kat_ ," she shot back with a grin and raised her face up to meet his lips.

* * *

Spock stifled a cry and jerked back as sparks exploded from the panel before him. There was a crackling and more sparks, then only the smell of burning wires.

Christine appeared in the hatchway of the cockpit. "What happened?"

"This circuitry blew out again," Spock replied irritably.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, merely singed." The Vulcan rose from the co-pilot's seat and waved smoke away. "I am on the verge of admitting defeat," he said. "This communications panel is beyond repairing."

"Well, why don't you call it a night? You've been working at that thing all day," Christine answered. "It will be here in the morning."

"Undoubtedly," he responded and followed her into the next compartment of the ship.

They had been here for two weeks now. The first few days had been spent cleaning out the wrecked ship and exploring it. That didn't take too long. The outside airlock opened into a central common area and galley. Just to the fore of that was the cockpit and to the stern were two small sleeping compartments with small bathrooms attached. Beyond that was the hold and then the engine room and power pile. The ship was little bigger than a shuttle but comfortable for short distance hops.

The first thing they did was clean the living areas, using brooms they'd made from saplings and bundles of straw grass, sweeping out the accumulated dirt and detritus. Then, while Spock examined the power packs, Christine went through the food in the galley. Most of it was unusable and she piled it on a spread plasticine sheet that she'd found, ready to haul it off and dump it well away from the ship. There were, however, sealed containers of alien foods that were still good and she set those aside to examine later.

As she was doing so, the whole ship abruptly shuddered beneath her feet and she gave a startled little cry. Then, as if touched by a magic hand, the lighting panel above her head flickered, died, flickered again, and came on. She let out a whoop! They had power!

Spock came back up the corridor, his face smudged but smiling. "Let there be light," he said.

She leaped into his arms and hugged him, laughing almost hysterically. "I'd almost forgotten what a well-lighted room looked like!" she said. "What else is working?"

"That remains to be seen," he replied. "The drive is irreparable, as we suspected, but ship's systems may be all right. I will attempt to get life support online as well. We should be able to ventilate the ship and generate heat."

"What about water? Have you checked the ship's plumbing?"

"Not yet. I regret that there doesn't seem to be a bathtub as I promised, but we might get the showers working. They appear to be water showers and not sonic."

"A real shower would be almost as good as a real bath!" she sighed. "I can't wait to get my clothes off and get under a nice hot water spray!"

Spock's eyes crinkled in amusement. "In that case, I had better get back to work and get one working!" She laughed once more in delight and hugged him again as he turned back to the engine room.

Later that day Spock had managed to get the life support going but so much dust had accumulated in the ventilation system that they were forced back out into the open for the night while the long unused air circulators cycled through several times and gradually cleared out the air. They spent one more evening in their tent, this time listening to the muted hum of the ship's power nearby.

By the next morning they ventured back inside and Christine set to work recleaning the ship, removing the dust that had blown in copious amounts out of the vents. Spock went back to work getting the heaters to work. That proved less of a challenge now that life support was in gear and it wasn't long afterwards that he tackled the food preparation area in the galley.

He was less successful here, managing only to get one of the counter top heating units to work and only fitfully at that. Christine sighed and said, "Well, I've grown rather fond of cooking over a fire. I've lived without a stove for this long, I suppose I don't need one now."

The plumbing on the other hand worked just fine once the water pumps began to cycle again. As executive officer of the _Enterprise_ , Spock had been required to have a working knowledge of all ship's systems, including the plumbing, and now he managed to get water to come out of the taps in the galley and both small bathrooms. He turned on one of the showers and was rewarded by a spitting, intermittent jet of rusty-colored water, then it settled down and ran clear and full.

Christine was delighted until Spock admonished her not to get too excited just yet. They had water, but it was cold water.

He hadn't gotten the water heating coil on line just yet. And in any case, the water purifier needed to run constantly for a couple of days, recirculating the water and cleaning it. It had lain dormant in the ship's tanks for a very long time and might have to be replaced with fresh if the purifier didn't work.

The toilets took a lot longer and they were forced in the meantime to "find a bush," as Christine put it. It was another week before Spock managed to get the waste system working and the bathrooms fully operational. He had solved the problem of the heating coil the day before and now could offer his wife a hot shower for her enjoyment.

That evening was cause for celebration...

* * *

After Christine had fed Sapel and gotten him ready for bed, Spock said, "Why not let me put him down tonight? I think there is a shower in there just waiting for you."

She felt a long, slow smile spread across her face as she handed the sleepy baby up into his father's arms. "I think I just remembered why I married you!"

His eyebrows went up and he answered in an innocent tone, "You married me because there was no one else to choose from!"

"Mmmmm ... maybe so, but I think I would have married you if there were a hundred men to choose from." She rose and leaned to kiss him, then, humming happily, went into the sleeping compartment they had taken as theirs, reaching up to unbraid her long hair.

Spock watched her go, smiling himself, then entered the other cabin that they had made into the nursery. The bed was the same size as theirs, but they had managed to fashion a railing around it and turn it into an oversized crib. Sapel, used to sleeping near his parents, had fussed a little at first, but soon had accepted his own bed and was sleeping mostly through the night. On this evening, Spock had a great desire that he should do so.

Cradling the nine-month-old in his arms, Spock rocked him in a gentle motion as he had seen Christine do, lulling him to sleep. "You must be a good boy tonight, Sapel," he murmured to the baby as the infant's eyes grew heavy and closed. "I would like your mother all to myself tonight ... with no interruptions! When you are older and have your own bondmate, you will understand. But for tonight, my son, sleep and do not wake until morning. Sleep..."

The baby snuggled into his father's chest, made a few reflexive sucking motions with his mouth, then subsided into deep slumber. Gently, Spock laid him down in the crib, covering him with one of the soft flannel-like sheets they had found onboard. The ship was warm now. The baby shouldn't need more than that. Just before leaving, Spock touched one finger to his son's temple and imparted a suggestion that he would sleep through the night and not wake his parents.

Spock paused at the door and turned out the lighting, leaving the door open so that light from the corridor streamed in at an angle. Then he went across the hallway and entered his own bedroom. He could hear the shower running in the small bathroom and quickly stripped off his clothing, leaving it lying on the floor. Then he moved to the bathroom door.

Christine's naked form could be seen through the frosted glass of the shower stall and Spock stepped in behind her. It was a snug fit but neither of them minded. She stood with her back to him, facing the wonderful spray of hot water, and he slipped his hands up around her, cupping her heavy breasts, gently massaging them and tweaking her protruding nipples.

She leaned back against him with a happy sigh, feeling his arousal nudging into the cleft of her buttocks. "Oh, that feels so good," she murmured.

"The shower or me?" he smiled back, continuing his massage.

"Both!" she replied. "Oh, I could stay here for an hour!"

"We don't have _that_ much hot water," he answered in amusement. "And I do not relish a cold shower tonight." He bent to nuzzle her neck, tickling her earlobe with his tongue.

She moved around in his arms until she was facing him and brought her lips up to his. He pulled her wet, naked body hard against his, devouring her mouth, his tongue probing in to dance with hers. As he lifted his lips from hers and moved his kisses down her throat, she sighed, "I want you right now, Spock! I want you to love me right here!"

"There isn't enough room," he answered, nibbling along her collar bone and bringing one hand up to fondle a breast once more. "Besides, that would be like having the dessert before the main course. We have all night, _t'hy'la_."

He straightened and captured her lips again in a deep, fervent kiss, his ardor betraying itself as his erection strengthened and prodded against her abdomen. She reached down and took him in her hand, guiding him between the soft, hot folds, gently rubbing the sensitive head against her swollen womanhood. But almost immediately he gripped her wrist and stopped the movement.

"Not yet," he whispered against her lips. "Be patient, my love. Bath first, and then bed."

He let go of her wrist and she released his thick shaft, allowing its rigidity to fade a bit from its urgency. They spent the next few minutes washing each other, exchanging kisses and intimate touches, rinsing off the soap and delighting in the sensuality of their shower together. Just as their modest reservoir of hot water was beginning to run out, Spock reached and turned off the shower, then retrieved more of the flannel cloth, thick and cut into bath towels, and they rubbed each other down vigorously, regenerating the excitement that was simmering between them.

When they were both dried off, Spock suddenly swept Christine up and carried her into the bedroom, where he laid her down on the big bed waiting for them. Far from being a typical ship's bunk, this was obviously made for luxury, large enough to accommodate two comfortably, and dressed with clean linens that Christine had found in the room's storage.

As she settled back, relishing the feel of a real bed once more, Spock crawled atop her, on his hands and knees, and began to trail kisses down her body, his tongue licking up the remaining droplets of water on her skin. He gently squeezed her full breasts, recently suckled, and lapped away the beads of milk that appeared on her protruding nipples. It was unbelievably arousing to her to watch him work her nipples with his tongue, kissing and tickling them, then pulling the entire areola into his mouth and sucking on her gently.

She arched her back up and buried her fingers in his long thick black hair, finding the curve of his ears and stroking from the points down to the lobes, again and again, making him surge with excitement. In answer, he slipped one hand down between her legs and spread her eager thighs, dipping his fingertips into her wetness and then massaging her engorged flesh.

She jumped at the touch, gasping, and he kept up his manual and oral stimulation, then suddenly he lifted his head from her breasts and plunged one long finger inside her, pumping vigorously while his thumb continued to rub her clitoris. Her hips came up off the mattress in a spasm of rapture, her body clutching his working finger as she bucked up against him.

After a minute, she shuddered hard and gave a soft cry, then her body lowered to the bed once more. He didn't let her rest long. Quickly, he moved down between her legs, spreading them farther apart, and bent to the steaming center of her womanhood. His finger still moving leisurely within her, he flicked his tongue over the hard little nub hidden in her folds, then set to work once more with his tongue and lips, driving her yet again into ecstasy.

Reaching back over her head, she grasped her pillow with both hands and panted frantically. "Oh, God ... now, Spock!! _Now!!_ "

He was rigidly erect, his penis absolutely throbbing in its frenetic need for her, and he knew he could not hold back much longer. He lifted himself up into position above her and, propping himself up on his forearms, ducked his hips into the wide valley she presented him, probing and then engaging into her threshold. He paused for a second, lowered himself against her, and then shoved his hips forward.

She cried out as his hot length plunged inside her, filling her completely, then moaned and opened herself fully to him as he began to move, softly at first, then with increasing force. Giving herself over to the wonderful sensation and building excitement, she brought her legs up around his plunging hips and clutched at his back, her nails digging into the hard muscles there.

He peered down into her face, suffused with rapture, eyes closed, as he pumped into her, and the emotions pictured there and radiating out through her skin brought him to the edge. Gripping her shoulders, he almost inadvertently picked up the tempo of his thrusts, driving into her as deeply as he could, his body nearly to the point of exploding with incipient release. And then he felt everything let go in a mindless rush of pure heat and screaming sensation and he slammed into her one last time. Her hips rose up again to meet his and she threw her head back with a long keen as his hot jet erupted into her depths.

It seemed to last forever but after only a minute or so, they both began to come down from their peak. She let out a long breath and collapsed beneath him. Still buried within her, Spock bent down to kiss her and she felt him twitch deep inside her amidst the rippling electric aftershocks still pulsing through her body. Then he pushed himself up and pulled out of her.

"No, not yet!" she protested, feeling empty without his comforting solidity filling her.

He rolled onto his side next to her and drew the sheets over them. Gathering her in his arms, he kissed her again. "We have all night, beloved," he whispered. "I have never made love to you in a real bed before and I wish to savor the experience. Let me collect myself again for a few minutes and we will begin anew. I want each time to be as if it were the first." He caught her lips once more and kissed her long and softly. "We will do whatever you like."

"Whatever I like?" she purred sensually up at him, her eyes half closed.

"Whatever you like," he affirmed in a soft, husky voice, his lips hovering above hers. "Tonight is for pleasure, my beloved wife. I hope that when morning comes, you will know what it is like to have been truly loved."

She gave a low, throaty moan and smiled up at him. "And you, my husband. I hope you're up to a _very_ long night!" She reached down between them and slid her hand along the thick, firm shaft she found there, warm and wet and slick to her palm.

Lightly rubbing her fingertips over the smooth, bulbous head, she was pleased to feel it respond with a distinct pulse of interest. "Mmmmm ... I think you will be up and really soon now," she chuckled softly, seductively. "Maybe I can help it along..." And she slid down his torso to aid him in beginning their next journey together.

* * *

Morning came all too soon. They had at last fallen asleep, exhausted, in each other's arms, the moist heat of their bare skin pressing together, limbs tangled. Through the small port in the cabin's wall, dawn light was just breaking when Sapel's whimper brought Christine awake, alert as only a mother can be to her child's hunger cries. And in reflexive response, she felt her full breasts "let down", ready to be nursed.

She started to rise, but Spock's arm across her chest pinned her. "Stay there," he said softly. He got up himself and padded, naked, out of the bedroom. The whimpering quieted and Spock came back, returning to his place in bed beside her. "He'll sleep for about another half hour," he said and his dark eyes were fathomless in the half light, seductive with promise. "We have time for one more."

She smiled and shook her head. "I won't be able to walk today!"

"In that case, then, I suppose we should cease all further sexual activities. I certainly have no wish to harm you." He made to get up. She grabbed him and pulled him back down to her. "Not so fast, mister! We'll 'cease' when I say we'll 'cease'!"

"Then after this last time, you had better say 'cease'," he teased, nuzzling her nose and kissing her.

"Why?"

"Because anymore after this and _I_ won't be able to walk today!" He rolled on top of her, bearing her down beneath him into the soft mattress, engaging in gentle roughhousing with her, all the while his erection pulsing up eagerly, ever hungry for her.

He wriggled between her legs, forcing them apart while she put up a token resistance, laughing all the while, and, when his thrusting probes sank home, his tactics became more serious, more targeted, until he was well seated within her.

At that point she gave up and welcomed him as he thrust hard and filled the hot and familiar place once more. Suddenly intense as he moved his hips back and forth in a steady rhythm, she looked up into his beautiful dark eyes, soft and passionate beneath the exquisite sweep of his brows, and she felt the love he held for her suffuse her entire being. It was like being dipped in golden light and she gasped as the rapture filled her. Dropping her head back onto her pillow and closing her eyes, she felt as if she were flying, his large strong palms flat up underneath her shoulder blades, supporting her.

Opening her eyes, she peered up at him lying above her and, through the haze of light surrounding him, she almost thought she saw wings, wide and tapered, spread on the wind, outstretched flight feathers like extended fingers of white fire, breaking the gauzy clouds through which they soared. There was nothing at all demonic about his physical features; instead he was an ethereal creature out of myth, loving her, filling her, transforming her with the power of his climactic eruption.

Her head fell back again as pearlescent fire exploded from his maleness and shot to every part of her body, saturating her with his light, his scent, his soul. It was too much for her to endure and she found herself spiraling downward into a whirlpool of rainbow hues and purple darkness.

The next thing she knew, she was being kissed awake by Spock's soft lips against her temple and cheek, his beard tickling her chin and ear. She clutched at him and pulled him down into her arms. "You wouldn't believe the wild dream I just had!" she murmured.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked in an amused voice, raising up slightly to look at her.

"What? _You_ did that?" She stared at him, her head still whirling.

"Only partly. You have quite an imagination," he smiled. "I merely enhanced it with a mind meld."

She blinked, still befuddled. "I thought you were an angel."

"Fascinating!"

Her expression became skeptical and she continued sardonically, "A rather randy angel, at that! I never heard of an angel doing what you were doing to me!"

"A fallen angel, perhaps," he suggested, his eyes crinkled with humor.

She was about to retort when Sapel announced that he was awake again and this time he wouldn't be put off. Again Spock was on his feet before she could react, but this time he came back with the tousle-haired little boy in his arms. The child was looking decidedly cranky as Christine took him.

"Oh, now _here's_ my angel," she cooed, cuddling the baby against her shoulder. Sapel squirmed and whined, wanting none of it. "Okay, I get the message. No loving before breakfast." Turning on her side, she positioned her baby and started him nursing.

Spock slipped back in beside her and the next hour the family spent quietly together. Spock softly ran his fingers through his son's fine black hair then touched them against Christine's as she cuddled the baby against her breast. She looked up to meet his eyes, smiling at the contentment and love she saw there.

"Angel," he whispered to her and stroked a fingertip down her cheek.

* * *

As the days progressed, Spock and Christine settled into a rather schizophrenic existence. At night they lived in an ultra-modern conveyance, surrounded by high tech appliances and conveniences, enjoyed central heat and running water and a soft bed. By day, they reverted to a primitive lifestyle, wearing clothing made of the skins Christine had tanned, from the animals that Spock hunted with a spear and a bow, cooking outdoors over a fire, foraging for their very survival. It was like standing midway through a time portal, with one foot in the present and the other in the past.

Winter caught up with them and, while it never snowed, a frigid wind blasted out of the north and plunged the temperature to the freezing point. Because neither of them could abide the taste of the recycled water in the ship, they had searched out a fresh water spring not far away, bubbling out of the limestone. This now froze and they were forced to haul chunks of ice back to melt in order to have drinkable water.

As their stock of food ran low, Spock returned to hunting. They were too far away from the plains now to hunt the herds they had followed into this area. Coupled with this, Spock did not want to risk running afoul of the marsupial lions that prowled there. He had nearly been killed the year before by the wolf things of their northern forest and the lions were three times bigger and even more ferocious.

Instead, he turned to the rolling hills of their upland home. There he found little family groups of a sheep-like animal, fleet and long-haired, its long thick horns curling around on either side of its face. This early in the season, they were still fat from their autumn feeding and were unwary of this new predator in their domain.

He found that, if he could get close enough for an arrow shot, they were easily killed and provided not only rich, succulent meat but a pelt of thick, soft fur and a downy undercoat. Christine had rubbed it between her fingers and looked speculative. When he questioned her, she mused, "I was just thinking ... I wonder if this could be spun into yarn ... and if I could build a loom..."

As winter dragged on, the days became routine. Sapel took his first steps in the common room and before long was busily working at getting his little feet to take him where he wanted to go. By the time the winter had nearly worn away and the first signs of spring were beginning to show themselves, he was toddling throughout the ship, following his father or mother by turns, delighted in his mobility ... And getting into everything he could reach. At night, if he wasn't too tired and as he could, Spock devoted himself to working on the ship's systems.

Communications was completely burned out, far beyond any hope of repair. The ship's computer banks were intact, although badly damaged, and Spock focused his cybernetic expertise on accessing them.

It was a cold, stormy day when he finally broke through to the ship's logs. Rain was pouring in sheets and they were stuck indoors for the duration. Christine was in the galley, struggling with the fitful heating unit on their little stove, attempting to heat up water for a hot beverage. Sapel was asleep on a pallet of warm blankets in the middle of the floor, and Spock had taken advantage of the quiet, gray afternoon to work on the computer problem. He had barely contained a shout of satisfaction when he finally accessed the records he sought. Now he hoped to find out where the little shuttle had come from and who her owners were.

It didn't come as much of a surprise when he discovered that this was an Imperial Romulan skiff, a runabout belonging to a princess of the ruling house. The dead pilot they had found had proven the ship's origins, but digging deeper into the damaged records, Spock found what had apparently happened.

The princess and two companions, while on a pleasure jaunt, had been attacked and chased into this remote sector of the Empire by pirates, belonging to a race Spock had never heard of — a people called Cardassians. The ship had been fired upon, not to destroy, but to damage it and force it down. The last frantic moments of the log ended with the pilot of the Romulan ship pleading frantically for help. Then the record ended.

Spock, who was sitting in the pilot's chair in the cockpit, settled back and pondered what he had learned. He was unfamiliar with the race of reptiloid invaders but he strongly suspected that they had recognized the ship as a royal shuttle and seen incredible wealth in the form of a heavy ransom for its passengers. Most likely they had forced the little ship down here and then captured the Romulans on board. There had been no evidence of a bloody struggle, but the body they had found bore the marks of a phaser-type weapon.

This made him give a second thought to a half-formed plan that he had been working on. Although the communications was shot, he thought he would be able to get the emergency beacon operational. Now he reconsidered. If this area was home to pirates, possibly even slavers, it would be an unacceptable risk to trigger the electronic signal. Having no numbers to accurately calculate the odds, he was hesitant now to do so. He was as likely to attract outlaws as rescuers. Even if someone other than pirates showed up, they would probably be Romulans and disinclined to return Federation citizens to their home space.

No, Spock decided, he couldn't risk the lives and well-being of his wife and child on the negligible chance of rescue. In this remote region of space, it was more likely to end in further tragedy for them. They were better off as they were. Furthermore, alerted now as he was to the fact that this area of space was outside even the reach of Romulan law, he would have to be mindful to the fact that if ... I _f_ they should sight a ship or humanoids here, extreme caution would be called for until he could determine who they were and what their purpose was in coming here.

Christine entered the cockpit to find her husband gazing pensively out at the rainy afternoon. This ship, instead of having a forward viewscreen, was equipped with actual transparisteel ports, a curving expansive window wrapping around the cockpit. Rain cascaded down it in sheets, causing patterns of shadow and dim light to give room an almost underwater feel.

Spock looked up as she came to stand beside him then accepted the mug of steaming liquid she handed him. She had another one in her other hand. She didn't know what the drink was, having found a store of powdered mix in the galley and had figured out from pictures on the label how to prepare it. It had a taste somewhere between coffee and cocoa but with a subtle undertaste all its own. In any case, it was delicious and perfect for a cold, blustery afternoon such as this. She just wished she had some miniature marshmallows to float on top.

Today she was dressed in a blue floor-length caftan-like garment. The two small closets in the bed chambers had been filled with women's clothing and she found that she could wear most of it. Alas, the only men's garments obviously had belonged to a short, stocky person and were in no way suitable for Spock's tall, lanky frame. He resigned himself to his tiny wardrobe of leather clothing that Christine had made for him.

Now he gazed appreciatively at his wife as she seated herself in the co-pilot's chair. It pleased him that she had found something more contemporary and feminine to wear here. The creamy blue of the caftan matched her eyes and set off her skin.

"Credit for your thoughts," she said.

He took a sip of his cocoa and made a noise deep in his throat, deciding on the spur of the moment not to burden her with his speculations about the new dangers he had discovered. "They are of no consequence," he answered.

She studied his angular features as he looked back out at the rain, the light patterns playing over his face. "You have an awfully somber expression for thoughts of no consequence," she commented.

He glanced sideways at her and one eyebrow went up. "Indeed? I am not somber at all, Christine. It must be the weather that makes it appear so."

"Mmm-hmmm," she mumbled, bringing her mug up to her lips. "You're positively dancing with joy."

He turned to look directly at her, his inscrutable mask slipping into place. "You do not seem to believe me," he answered accusingly.

She pinned him with a patient, long-suffering gaze. "Spock, my true love, my darling husband ... through our Bond I feel what thee feels."

The other eyebrow went up. "Then thee knows that I am content, wife," he retorted ritually.

"Okay, okay. I surrender." She turned her gaze back out the windows and watched the rain pour down. "You're just awfully quiet. And I _do_ sense worry, love. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was merely contemplating the coming spring."

"Whether we should stay or go back north, you mean."

"Yes." He sipped his cocoa, watching the rain also. "The hill sheep seem to be moving to higher pasture and I believe that the antelope and horse herds will be migrating back to summer grazing soon. And yet ... It is so comfortable here that I hesitate to take us back to the harsh life we have lived."

Christine was silent for a long time then she said softly, "Spock, I'm going to tell you something that is going to surprise you." He looked over at her, curious. She wet her lips and continued, "I don't much like it here."

"Indeed! I would have thought that the comforts we have found with this ship would have been very much to your liking!"

"That's the strange thing about it. I would have thought so, too. But the daily back and forth between the 23rd century and the Ice Age is driving me crazy! I mean, I can heat water in a modern kitchen, but have to spit and cook meat over an open fire. On days like this, I can't even do that because we can only have the fire outside and when it's raining we have to have a cold meal indoors. We have running water but can't drink it, so we have to haul drinking water in from a half mile away. I'm dressing in Romulan finery while you're stuck with home-tanned buckskin." She shook her head. "And poor Sapel — if he lives like this, how will it affect him? Will he grow up depending on the things we have here, impairing his ability to survive?"

She looked back to the storm outside. "No, Spock. I want to go home." She swung back to face him, her eyes pleading. "To the valley. As weird as it sounds, that's where I feel comfortable, where we have what we need and where our lives are pared down to their most basic components."

He exchanged a long, searching look with her, then he closed his eyes for a second and nodded. "Very well, wife. As thee wishes. When the weather gets better and we're able to travel, we will go home."

He had finished his cocoa and now rose from the pilot's seat to take his cup back to the galley. As he started past her, Christine reached up and grasped his arm. "Spock..." she said, looking up at him anxiously. "I will go where you want. I'll do whatever you think is best for us."

He let his fingers trail down her cheek and along her jawline. "I will be truthful with you, too, my _t'hy'la_. I have missed our life there as well. For all its hardships and primitiveness, I have come to consider it home, too."

She smiled and he returned it, sending his relief and contentment through their Bond to her. As he moved to leave the control room, Christine sighed happily and drew her feet up under her, cupping the warm mug between both hands and taking a long, soothing drink.

* * *

There came a day when it was obvious that spring had arrived and, with it, the time to leave their winter home. Spock and Christine had known it would be soon and had been preparing for it, deciding what to take back with them, how much they could carry, preparing journey food and getting everything together that they would need.

Now, as the morning dawned clear and with the promise of good weather, Spock made the decision to go. As the two adults bustled around, going back and forth from one end of the ship to the other, moving things outside and storing things away in case they decided to come back for the following winter, little Sapel was left a bit to his own devices. He tried toddling first after his father then his mother, but both were moving at too fast a pace for him to keep up. Finally, he sat in the middle of the common room floor and let out a frustrated howl.

Christine swooped down and picked him up, moving him out of the main traffic pattern, and handed him a slice of their cracker-like bread to keep him quiet. Now at about sixteen months old, he was in the process of being weaned and he had become adept at feeding himself finger foods. That seemed to mollify his hurt feelings and he sat for a while gnawing on the cracker and watching his parents in their uncharacteristic busyness.

However, neither of them stopped to play with him and, after a while, just watching became supremely boring. He put his mangled cracker down on the floor, got himself up on his feet, and toddled to where he last remembered seeing his father.

Spock was in the control room, sitting in the pilot's chair, running a systematic shut-down of all the ship's internal systems when his little son made his wobbly way between the seats and grabbed a double handful of the fringe on Spock's knee-high moccasins to avoid falling.

"Ah, the First Officer!" Spock said and reached down, picking the toddler up and sitting him in the co-pilot's seat. "This is your station I believe. You may have the conn while I run these procedures, Mr. Sapel."

The child stood up in the high-backed seat so that he could look out the wrap-around viewports and that seemed to engage his attention, allowing his father to finish working through the checklist on the datapadd he held. Spock reached over and quickly snapped off a series of switches on the pilot's panel, then reached overhead to do the same to a number of press-panels and buttons, his long fingers dancing over the array.

One of the lights remained red, indicating that a relay hadn't closed in the engine room, and Spock hurriedly rose and strode out of the cockpit to see what the problem was.

Sapel had been watching his father play with the pretty lights and knobs and he decided that he wanted to play with them, too. He scooted to the edge of the co-pilot's seat and managed to lean forward enough to reach the controls in front of him. Randomly, he began to poke buttons and flip switches and twist knobs on dials. Spock had already taken 99% of the panel offline, so there was no power behind the vast majority of the controls Sapel poked.

There was one button that particularly intrigued him, however, a big bright purple one with some white marks on it. This one had a clear cover over it and he worked at it with his little fingers until the cover came off. Delighted, he explored the engraved markings with his fingertips but of course had no way of knowing that the picture on the button was a Romulan symbol for "emergency". In the process of his fingering the button, he depressed it and it sank into a hidden socket and engaged there. Try as he might, he couldn't get it to come back up again, so he grew bored with it and forgot about it. Something colorful fluttered by the cockpit windows and that pulled his attention away from the control panel. He stood back up in the seat and tried to see the pretty bird.

Spock had gotten the relay closed and finished his shutdown from the engine room. Now, satisfied that the ship would stay in good shape until such time as they returned the next year, he came back into the common room to see how Christine was doing with the packing. She was finished and had secured everything they were leaving in safe storage.

They looked around and then back at each other. "I guess we're done," Christine said.

"Apparently. Well, in that case, I shall move these packs outside, you get Sapel, and we will, as they say, 'hit the road'."

"Where _is_ Sapel?" Christine asked, spotting the remains of the cracker she had given him but not seeing any trace of her child.

"Um ... he's there, looking out the viewport." Spock picked up their packs and equipment and started for the hatchway.

As he left the ship, Christine went to collect her son. "There's my good boy," she cooed as the toddler looked up at her and grinned. "What do you see out there?"

Sapel made an unintelligible answer and pointed.

"Oh, a birdie? Pretty! Well, you know what? It's time to go see a lot of birdies and animals and other things!" Christine picked him up and parked him on her hip, carrying him out of the little ship's cockpit.

She paused in the galley to retrieve the cracker and quickly wipe up the crumbs, then she took a last look around and stepped outside, leaving the place they had called home for the past several months.

Spock was waiting for her, his pack already seated across his back. "Do you have everything you need?" he asked her.

"I sure hope so!" She set the baby on his feet long enough to shrug into her own much lighter pack. Then Spock settled their son in his carrier on Christine's back and handed her the walking staff she used. When they were ready, he sealed the hatch on the ship, exchanged an appraising look with her, and they set off toward home.

Inside the ship, the purple button that Sapel had pushed had triggered a program in the ship's memory banks. This in turn had accessed a subroutine designed to activate a battery that served as a backup should the ship's systems be shut down.

Within a couple of minutes, the battery's activation had caused a backup transmitter to come online and begin to emit a calculated series of electronic pulses. These pulses, in turn, sped out in all directions from the ship.

Some of them moved away from the planet and into space, a definite signal, radiating out from a central point. The transmitter did not have a subspace relay and so the waves traveled at the relatively leisurely pace of the speed of light, spreading out away from the planet like the ripples on pond whose surface has been disturbed.

* * *

Spock led them due north, avoiding the territory of the lions farther to the east. This was all new land to them and it proved to be an extension of the rocky, rolling hills in which they had been living. The going was a bit rough at times but they took it slow and easy, not pushing themselves.

In early afternoon, they took a break, letting Sapel stretch his legs a bit and eating lunch under the shade of trees that spread over a clear platform of pink granite at the top of a hill. From there they could look out to the horizon, disappearing in a soft haze far away. Christine nursed Sapel until he fell asleep at her breast, then she laid him down on a bed that consisted of a soft‑tanned hide spread out in the shade. As he napped, she and Spock sat side by side and finished their lunch, quietly enjoying the warm, lazy afternoon.

"It's so much like home," she mused softly.

"Which home?" he asked, his eyes betraying a twinkle of good humor. "The valley?"

"No, Earth. This whole planet. It's all so Earth-like." She let her gaze roam. "This area reminds me of several places I've seen ... parts of California, the Ozarks, central Texas... I could almost imagine that we're there, having a picnic on a fine spring day."

He nodded. "I too have been struck many times by the resemblance of this planet to Earth. I cannot imagine why it has not been colonized by the Romulans."

"Perhaps it's just too far off the beaten path. Or, perhaps they have colonized it and we just don't know it. They could be on the other side of the world or 100 miles away and we'd never know."

Spock shrugged and drew one knee up, folding his forearms across it. "Possible, but somehow I believe what Tal told us, that we are the only people here. It wouldn't suit his plans for vengeance if there was the remotest chance of us finding anyone else here. I think we might as well consider ourselves the sum total of civilization on this planet."

Christine made a little sound in her throat. "You know ... it just occurred to me that we never have named this place. It's always just 'this planet'. If it's all ours, then we ought to call it something."

"Any suggestions?" He peered at her with lifted eyebrows, waiting for her pronouncement.

"Hmmm ... I don't know ... let me think about it..." She pulled her knees up and hugged them, her gaze drifting far away in thought. "I suppose we could go all sorts of routes in the naming game, but I can't think of anything fancy that suits it. It just seems like Earth to me. Maybe that's the ticket. Earth Two. No ... Terra Two. That's better. Terra Two."

"Practical, if not particularly poetic," he agreed. "A logical designation."

"And if later on we think of something better, we can always change it," she shrugged. "It's not like it's carved in stone."

"Agreed." Spock turned his eyes back to scanning the rolling vista. A variety of trees cloaked the hills in various shades of green, from the bright mint of budding new growth to the deep, rich emerald of pines. On the crown of nearly every hill, though, pink granite lay exposed, the overcap long since weathered away. The outcroppings ranged in size from little knobs of rock to vast expanses of the stone.

"This is an interesting geological area," he commented. "This is undoubtedly a volcanic uplift zone with exposed plutons."

"What?" she asked.

"Solidified blobs of magma that rose nearly to the surface and then cooled," he replied. "They are quite common on Earth in old seismic zones."

"Oh, yes, now I remember. It's been a long time since that college geology class I took. I've seen plutons in Yosemite," she responded. "I remember reading that Half Dome is a pluton that broke right down the middle, or something like that. It's amazing to look out and see these things sprouting up everywhere. But why are they pink?"

"Because of the iron content of the rock. There are areas of Vulcan that show this same sort of geology." He gave a soft sigh. "I wish I had my tricorder. It would be most gratifying to take readings here."

She didn't answer but watched a winged bird-like creature soaring on thermals against the blue canopy overhead. High altitude cirrus clouds streaked the sky and the slight breeze stirred the trees, bringing the perfume of new leaves and blossoms with it.

"God, it's beautiful here," she sighed wistfully.

Spock glanced at her again, the same affectionate, slightly amused expression on his face. "I have noticed that you often evoke the Deity, Christine" he commented. "I have never asked you this before, but do you miss the practice of your religion?"

His question surprised her. "I ... I don't suppose I really have a religion," she answered. "I guess it's just a bad habit, saying God's name like that. You're not supposed to. 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain' or something like that. It's one of the Ten Commandments but I can't remember which one."

"Did you not receive religious training as a child? I was given to understand that this was customary with many Humans. You often evince such training."

"I went to church off and on when I was a kid," she mused. "I guess I stopped altogether once I went away to college. I just never got back into going again." She looked at him. "What about you? Did you ever go to Sunday school or do they have anything like that on Vulcan?"

"Vulcans do not practice religion as a Human would understand it. Most of the population follows the Tenets of Surak as their moral and practical guide in daily life," he answered thoughtfully. "Although there are isolated areas that still show a belief in the Old Ways. Despite what most people think, the Teachings of Surak are not universal on Vulcan."

"Do they believe in God, then?" Christine asked, becoming interested. She had never known this about Vulcan culture.

"No, not a supreme being such as many Humans understand. In the Old Times, long before Surak, the Goddess Heya was worshipped widely as the Keeper of the Mountain Fires. She was said to rule from the interior of Mt. Seleya. That's where the mountain gets its name. Properly, it is Seyl-Heya, the Seat of Heya. It was once an active volcano and the primitives thought it erupted because of the Goddess' wrath."

"Pele," Christine responded. "Like on Hawaii."

"Similar."

"But you don't believe in her."

"No, of course not. It is merely an ancient superstition to explain a natural occurrence."

She lay back and stretched out on the soft hide. Sapel sensed his mother's presence beside him and stirred but then settled down and continued to sleep. Christine smiled at her little son, then looked back up at her husband, enjoying at the way the breeze tousled his long black hair and teased it around his cheeks.

"What do you believe, Spock?" she asked seriously. "What was the statue that you always kept in your bed chamber on the ship and the incense that you always burned. It looked like a pagan shrine to me."

He glanced at her then looked back at the horizon. "It was not a shrine, Christine, and hardly pagan. That word denotes a religious belief outside the mainstream of the local culture. No, it was merely a reminder of the Ancestors. That they are there should I need to call upon their wisdom."

"Well, isn't that a religion? Ancestor worship?"

He looked at her again, his brows lowering a bit. "It is not ancestor worship. I show reverence to my forebearers because they are there."

"Like they are in heaven or something?"

"No, again you are confusing superstition with fact," he replied. "This is difficult to explain... When a Vulcan dies, his _katra_ ... his soul ... rejoins the _a'Tha_ ... the overlying consciousness that connects all Vulcan minds together. It is not like telepathy but it is a binding into One. We can feel the life force of one another. Do you remember when the _Intrepid_ was destroyed? I felt the crew die, every individual one of them. It is what we mean when we say 'I grieve with thee'. We grieve because the death is personal to us.

"It would be unbearable except for one thing. A Vulcan's intellect does not dissipate upon his death, but is ... collected into the other souls that are part of the ... um ... being that is the Vulcan spirit. Sometimes a _katra_ is imparted to the family members so that the ancestor is directly incorporated into their own _katras_. My ancestors are literally part of me. I can call upon them because they are here, within me." He peered at her hopefully. "Do you understand?"

"I think so. Is that what you do when you go and meditate? Do you talk with your ancestors?"

"Sometimes, if they have something they wish to say to me," he answered. "It is very difficult to explain to a non-Vulcan who has not experienced it."

Christine reached out and stroked her baby's soft black hair. "Do you suppose Sapel will have it?" she wondered softly.

Spock stretched himself out on the other side of his son, propping himself up on one elbow and resting his cheek against his hand. With the other, he slipped a finger into the palm of the toddler's small hand, which reflexively grasped the man's larger one.

"I don't know," Spock said in answer to his wife's question. "He is showing many Vulcan characteristics. Time will tell if his Ancestors will lead him as they have led me."

* * *

It took ten days of walking but at last, late in the afternoon of the tenth day, Spock, with Sapel sitting atop his shoulders and his little hands resting on his father's head, paused and peered into the distance. Christine stopped beside him and strained to see what he was looking at. And then she recognized it, too — the familiar contour of the bluff above their valley, the snaking green line of trees following the waterway to the edge of the escarpment, and the little waterfall plummeting over that.

She let out a whoop that startled Sapel so much he would have fallen off his father's shoulders if Spock hadn't had his hands wrapped around his little son's legs, anchoring him. As it was, the boy stared at his mother in surprise and Spock abruptly added to that surprise with a burst of laughter that he quickly stopped.

Christine's mouth fell open. " _What_ was _that_?!" she demanded. She could count on one hand the times she'd heard Spock laugh.

A little embarrassed, he looked at her and barely suppressed a smile. "It was Sapel," he explained. "He transmitted the mental impression that you had lost your mind. Not in so many words or even a coherent thought, just that that was his immediate response to the noise you made."

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "I can see that you two are going to be a handful!"

Spock smiled again. "This isn't getting us any closer to home. Shall we continue?"

"Absolutely!" They set out toward the landmark on the horizon, new energy added to their step. Christine was bone weary, but right now she felt like she could have run the rest of the way. As they walked, she asked, "Does he know he's transmitting his thoughts?"

"No," Spock replied. "Nor will he begin to learn how to shield for another couple of years. Vulcan children generally are old enough to comprehend the lessons when they are about three. I suspect Sapel will be the same."

The little boy was paying no attention to his parents' discussion. He was happily riding high on his father's shoulders, surveying the landscape, and had double fistfuls of Spock's thick black hair for extra security. Spock didn't mind except when the toddler, in the throes of excitement at seeing a new animal or bird, yanked enthusiastically in response. Spock was just glad that Vulcans were not prone to baldness.

The sun was beginning to near the western horizon by the time they finally trudged down into their little valley and waded across the creek. Here they paused and surveyed their homesite. The hide-covered barrier that Spock had wedged into place when they'd left several months before had been knocked aside and there were animal tracks leading in and out of the cave.

Spock handed Sapel down to Christine and shucked his heavy pack, then took up his hunting spear and cautiously approached the cave mouth. Christine dropped her pack as well, holding Sapel close, and ready to run if she had to.

Spock paused at the doorway and peered inside for a very long time, then he stepped inside and was lost in the darkness. All was quiet for a moment, then his deep voice gave a loud, sharp shout, which was punctuated by a shriek. At the same instant, a half-dozen rabbit-sized animals exploded from the cave mouth and scattered in all directions, disappearing within seconds.

Christine was breathless, clutching her baby, wondering what had happened, but then Spock ducked underneath the doorway and strode confidently toward her. He had his spear in one hand, the point bloodied, and a lifeless hare in the other, holding it by its long hind legs.

"Supper," he remarked as he reached his wife. He jerked his head back to the cave. "It is alright but the hoppers have evidently been in there all winter. It needs a good cleaning. I do not think we want to sleep in there tonight."

Sapel was squirming to get down so his mother set him on his feet. He promptly made a bee-line for the rabbit his father held and reached out to stroke the soft fur. When it didn't move, he peered up at Spock and made an interrogatory sound. Spock looked directly back at him for a few seconds, his gaze intense, and Sapel seemed to have his answer for he promptly found something else that interested him.

"I wish I could do that," Christine commented with a sigh.

"He will be talking soon enough and there will be little need of it. As I was saying, the cave smells of rabbit dung and urine. We will need to clean it thoroughly before we can move back in."

"Well, I'm just so happy to be home that I don't care if we have to sleep in the tent for a week," she smiled. "Do you want me to take care of that?"

"If you don't mind," he answered, handing the animal over to her. "I'll see if there is usable firewood where we left it and get a fire going."

"Be careful with that woodpile," she warned as he walked toward the area where they had always stored brush and logs. "There may be spiders or snakes in it."

"There aren't any spiders or snakes on this planet," he retorted over his shoulder.

"That we know of!" she shot back. "Just watch what you're grabbing!"

Christine got her hunting knife and carried the rabbit down to where the creek ran swiftly over rocks, Sapel toddling after her. When she squatted down at the water's edge to gut and skin the hare, he did likewise, watching her. He'd seen her prepare many different types of animals and was not the least bit upset by the butchering. Animals were food and this was how you made them ready to eat.

She had pulled the pelt off the lean carcass and was about to start the gutting when suddenly she heard Spock cry out in alarm. She whipped around in time to see him fling an armload of kindling away from himself and begin to bat frantically at his torso and legs. Without thinking, she dropped her knife beside the carcass and leaped to his aid.

"Spock! What—"

"Biters!" he responded, still contorting to reach everywhere at once. "They're all over me!"

She could see now that he was covered with the tiny black insects, renowned for their ferocious tempers and fiery stings. She started to slap at his body, then ordered, "Get in the water! Quick!"

He didn't stop to quibble but immediately ran and leaped into the creek, immersing himself and staying there as long as he could hold his breath, hoping that the current would wash away the tormenting creatures before he was subject to any further assault.

Christine crouched on the bank and watched anxiously as her husband finally came up for air, his long black hair hanging in his face, and looking like a drowned rat. She couldn't help it. She began laughing as he shook his drenched hair away and panted for breath.

"I fail to see what is so funny!" he stated.

"Oh, lord, Spock! I wish you could see yourself!" She broke out into another fit of giggles then managed to ask, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you for asking," he retorted and stood up to wade out of the water, his waterlogged buckskins clinging to his body. He was nearly to shore when he suddenly gasped, "Sapel!"

She whirled and cried out. She'd forgotten about her knife when she went to Spock's aid and the toddler now had it in his hands, looking over the pattern the rabbit's blood made on the razor-sharp blade.

With forced calmness, Christine rose and walked deliberately toward her son, careful not to startle him. He looked up at her innocently then with bewilderment as she leaned down and lifted the knife from his grasp. "No, Sapel!" she told him with a stern expression. "Bad! Don't touch!!"

He blinked his big brown eyes a couple of times then his face bunched up and he erupted into a wail of hurt protest. Spock was behind her now and Christine handed the knife back to him, then bent and picked up her baby, hugging him tight, herself shaking so much she could barely function. "It's okay, my lovey boy. It's okay," she crooned, holding him against her shoulder and rocking him soothingly. "Mommy's sorry but you mustn't ever touch a knife, baby. It will hurt you! Shhhh...."

Eventually he stopped crying and snuggled into his mother's comforting shoulder. Spock slipped an arm around Christine and bent his head to his son's, heedless of the fact that he was soaking wet. He was too weak with relief to care.

Christine continued to rock her baby but snuggled against her husband's cheek and whispered, "Welcome home!"

* * *

They settled back into their routine as if they had never left it. The cave was cleaned and scrubbed, and fragrant herbs burned for several days until the lingering animal smell was finally eradicated. The furs and hides that had been stored in the back had to be dragged out and soaked in the pond in order to clean them and also to get rid of parasites that had taken up residence during the rabbits' winter sojourn. Then Christine had the job of reworking the hides to make them soft and pliable once more.

Spock burned the brush pile, using up a lot of perfectly good kindling wood, but killing the biting insect colony that infested it. He sported several dozen stings where they'd gotten under his clothing and these turned into painful, itching pustules that kept him scratching for more than a week afterwards. Fortunately, while disagreeable and unsightly, the insect stings weren't serious and eventually healed.

As spring progressed, he took up hunting once more to supply his family with food and Christine returned to her chores of preserving the meat as jerky or in their salt barrel. New plant growth also meant fresh greens and tender shoots that she was now practiced at finding and cooking. And little Sapel reveled in the first spring he had known and happily explored while his mother foraged.

It was now more than two full years since Spock and Christine had been marooned on the planet they had dubbed Terra Two and, if either thought much of the homes they had lost, it was a fading memory. Both had accepted that there was almost zero chance of rescue and so they dismissed it as irrelevant. They looked to the future now, their priorities centering on raising their son and finding enough food to survive.

On this afternoon, the family had gone up onto the plains simply to enjoy the fine weather and walk together. The grass here had been grazed low by the herds of horses and antelope and other animals that populated this place. Spock and Christine strolled leisurely along side-by-side as Sapel laughed and chased hop-bugs and flutters. A good distance away, a herd of the little equine _mesohippus_ were grazing and switching their tufted tails at flies. Foals were numerous and they scampered and kicked with the energy of new life, never straying too far away from their mothers.

"A lot of babies this year," Christine remarked. "I hope that's a sign that this will be a good year."

"I have no faith in 'signs' but one can always hope," Spock replied, keeping an eye on Sapel.

Christine let her gaze move to the child as well. He was growing fast and she had nearly weaned him now. Her milk was beginning to dry up and her breasts were getting smaller, back to their normal size. Unconsciously a troubled look cross her face and Spock noticed it.

"What is wrong?"

She shook her head. "Just thinking. He's not nursing much anymore but he needs milk. I worry about his teeth and bone development. I don't want him malnourished."

Spock nodded and looked back at the boy. Then he looked at the horse herd and got a speculative expression on his face. Christine peered up at him. "I know that look, Spock. What are you thinking about?"

He didn't answer for a few seconds, then said, "Just pondering the answer to your question. There are a lot of mares and they are lactating now. I wonder if it might be possible to catch some of them and milk them..."

"Drink mare's milk?"

He shrugged. "There are whole cultures on your planet that depend heavily on horses and their milk."

"But these aren't horses," she pointed out. "We don't even know if their milk is drinkable."

"No, and we won't know until we try it," he replied. "I will give it further thought..."

Sapel made a fumbling dash at a bright-winged flutterfly and ended up rolling and giggling in a patch of white flowers. Christine laughed happily, too, delighted in her child's play. She noticed Spock smiling at her and glanced up at him, curious.

"What?" she asked.

His dark eyes were warm as they held hers. "You are so beautiful," he said softly. "I don't think I could go on without you."

"Spock..." she smiled and slipped her arms around his waist, holding him close. After a moment, she pulled away a little, lifting her face as he bent to her lips. It was soft and light at first, then she touched her tongue to his lips and opened them against hers. He held her tighter as their tongues danced and the kiss grew deeper. She moaned low in her throat as she felt desire rear up in her soul. She could feel his answering need beginning to press against her and she moved her pelvis harder into his, encouraging him.

He lifted his mouth from hers and murmured, "If Sapel weren't watching us, I would already have you on the grass, but I think perhaps we had better wait until tonight when he is asleep."

She laughed throatily. "Undoubtedly. I would hate to have him come over and ask you telepathically what you were doing to Mommy!"

"Indeed. So I will wait until he cannot ask," Spock replied in a deep purr and kissed her hard one final time before releasing her.

Sapel was indeed watching them curiously but then got to his feet and ran to them, his little fists clutching some of the white flowers. Christine crouched and caught him, lifting him high. Then she cradled him close and hugged him.

He squirmed and thrust the flowers into her face. "Oh, how pretty!" she cried in exaggerated delight. "Are those for me? Thank you!!"

"Let's put some in Mama's hair, shall we?" Spock said and began tucking some of the mangled blossoms into her braids.

Sapel said, "Pa!" and reached up toward his father.

"Well, of course, Papa needs a flower, too," Christine agreed and stuck one into Spock's dark hair before he could stop her.

The little boy giggled happily. "And Sapel gets one," Spock said, tucking the last flower behind his son's ear.

Sapel was beside himself and wriggled until Christine put him back down. He set back off at a clumsy run to get more blossoms, his parents following behind hand-in-hand.

* * *

The day had been unseasonably warm, almost to the point of being hot, and the evening that followed it maintained the heavy, muggy heat of the day. The sun still set fairly early at this time of the year and, by the time they had their meal prepared, it was full dark. After they had eaten supper and Christine had put Sapel to bed, making sure that he was fast asleep, she came back to find Spock standing just outside the opening of their home, looking up at the clear, star-speckled sky. She sank against him, slipping her arm around his slim waist, and snuggled into him.

"It's hot tonight," she commented softly.

He looked down at her and she saw that there was a sly smile on his face. "Do you think the water is too cold for a swim?" he asked.

Her heart leaped. "Probably, but let's go anyway."

Quickly, they stripped and tossed their clothing back inside, then, with her skin prickling in the night air, Christine said, "Race you!" and set off at a run for the pond. She could hear Spock right behind her.

Feeling decadent and silly all at the same time, Christine giggled like a girl and splashed into the water, the shock of its cool temperature making her squeal at first. Spock caught her before she had gone a half dozen steps and seized her from behind, his strong arms sliding around under her breasts and pulling her hard against him.

She laughed and twisted, coming around to face him, and then he silenced her with a long, fervent kiss. She moaned and returned it full measure, her arms going around his neck, her body molding itself against his. They hadn't made love since they'd left the little ship in the hills and their innate hunger for each other burst into flame once more. For a long time, they stood waist deep in the cool water and feasted on each other's kisses, tongues playfully dueling, lips caressing and nipping, bodies hardening into attention as they pressed together.

He moved his lips down her throat and one hand slid from stroking her back to cupping a full breast. She laughed again and pushed away from him, striking out toward the waterfall. He followed her and for a few minutes they enjoyed the luxury of stretching their muscles against the water's resistance, slicing through the lapping wavelets until they came up underneath the fall's crystal shower.

There he caught her again, treading water as he nuzzled between her breasts. Then abruptly he surprised her by ducking down and submerging. She could feel him sliding down her torso, his hands guiding him, but she was unprepared when she suddenly felt him push her legs wide apart. She gave a little cry as the cool water surged into her hot folds, and then jumped and made an even louder sound when without warning she felt him nuzzle his face in between her thighs and kiss her intimately, his tongue hot against her flesh. The shock and the dichotomy of sensations nearly made her explode with ecstasy, but it lasted only a second and then he was surfacing again, flinging his hair out of his face.

"Spock!" she gasped and then watched amusement crinkle his eyes. She flung herself onto him, dunking him inadvertently, then when he came up spluttering, she slid her arms around his neck in a gentler manner. She kissed him hard, nearly pushing him under again, until he fended her off a bit and managed to catch his breath.

A wicked expression crept over her face and, before he could do more than register it, she had copied his actions, sinking down under the water and moving down his body. Within a couple of seconds, he jerked reflexively as her warm mouth engulfed the end of his penis and gentle suction jolted him. It was just about the most incredible sensation he'd ever experienced and he couldn't suppress a groan as he immediately felt himself respond with a surge of arousal. And then the hot mouth was replaced by the shock of cool water and he shuddered as the chill shot through him.

Christine surfaced with a gasp and smoothed her hair out of her face. "How'd you like that?" she asked.

"It would have been better had I not been dashed with cold water just as I was becoming interested!" he responded.

She reached down and grasped him. "Hmm ... yes, that definitely needs some work. Let's get out. I'm getting cold, too."

They struck out for shore and climbed out onto one of the big rocks that bordered the pool, its surface still bearing the day's heat. Here they stretched out, savoring the latent warmth of the stone. The muggy night breeze, moving with barely a breath over their skin, was sensual in the extreme and Christine could feel her nipples rising up in response.

Spock rolled onto his side and propped himself on one elbow, his face against the palm of his hand. With the other hand, he lazily trailed his fingertips over the taut rosy nubs, feeling them swell and harden beneath his touch. She arched her back and sighed, pushing her breasts up higher in offering. He responded, bending to draw the nearest one into his mouth and working at it with his tongue.

Her sigh became a moan and she slipped her fingers up to bury themselves in his thick, soft hair, still wet from their swim, stroking down the tips of his ears and back again. He picked up the strength of his suckling, almost to the threshold of pain. But, knowing through their bond exactly what she was feeling, he never crossed that point.

After a few moments, he lifted his head and kissed his way down her warm stomach, pivoting on his hip as he did so, until ultimately he was facing toward her feet and his lips were tickling the inside of her thighs, gently coaxing them open. The intoxicating scent of her womanhood met him as he spread her legs and lifted himself over her to better reach the sweet secrets he sought. He moved to kiss her there, his tongue exploring and tantalizing her unmercifully.

Christine found his hardening manhood within easy reach and she began to stroke him again and again, reveling in the heat radiating off his body, in the musky scent of his skin, in the contained power he evoked. Encouraging him to move astride her, she pulled the firm, pulsing shaft to her lips and kissed the moist head, tickling it with the tip of her tongue and tasting first briny droplets hanging there. She wanted more of him and pulled him into her mouth, still slipping her hand up and down the rigid rod as she sucked gently but with increasing fervor.

She felt him shudder underneath her hands and he lifted his mouth from her, gasping aloud. _D_ _on't stop!_ she pleaded through their meld, but he couldn't concentrate on pleasuring her as he wanted to, so consumed was he at the moment with impending orgasm. Instead, he slid two fingers into her wet opening and pumped them in a matching rhythm to her mouth working his throbbing erection. Her hips involuntarily bucked and tightened and she quickened the beat of her stroke, sucking him hard.

He cried out in response and a half-controlled spasm gripped him, then her mouth was abruptly flooded with a gush of hot, salty liquid. She swallowed reflexively, holding him to her until it was over, then eased up and he pulled away from her. She could feel his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Christine," he said in a hoarse voice. "I didn't mean to do that. Forgive me..."

"Come back up here," she answered. He repositioned himself beside her and was surprised when she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. Her mouth was musty and he experienced the odd sensation of tasting himself on her lips. It was surprisingly erotic.

When she lifted her mouth from his, she whispered, "Do not _ever_ apologize to me like that again. I had plenty of time to move away if I had wanted to."

"I lost control," he protested, still holding her close.

"I gave you a blow job," she responded, peering at him meaningfully. "That was supposed to happen." He was quiet for a moment and she said in a softer tone, "If you didn't like it, I won't do it again. Just tell me, Spock."

He peered at her closely and caressed her cheek with one hand. "What pleases you, pleases me, _t'hy'la_. I just find it more pleasurable to reach a climax inside your body and feel you climax around me. This way makes me feel a bit distant from you."

"Then I won't do it again," she promised.

He smiled and retorted, "I did not say that exactly."

She laughed and moved to kiss him again, long and languidly. When they parted, they lay for a while looking up at the stars. Though unfamiliar, the glittering points of light seemed warm and inviting and their thoughts drifted up and were lost among them. After a while, Christine asked in a murmur, "Spock? On the _Enterprise_ ... did you love me then?"

"I liked you," he answered honestly. "I liked you very much. But I did not love anyone. I did not know what love was."

"I loved you," she whispered against his chest where she had nestled her head. "I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. And that's it. I was in love with you, even though I didn't yet know you. But I truly came to love you as time went on." She trailed her fingertips up through the crisp, dark hair on his chest. It made her pause for a moment and savor the sensation, a characteristic so primally male that she felt a quiver of incipient arousal run through her.

He felt it too and it generated a surge of answering electricity in him. "Why don't we go back in?" he asked softly. "I think we would be a lot more comfortable in our bed."

"Mmmmm...." she responded with a sigh, nuzzling against him, letting his chest hair tickle her nose, drinking in his masculine scent as she did so. "Does that mean I have to get up and let you go?"

"Only for a minute," he answered in a soft, deep voice. He gently pushed her away and then got to his feet. Pulling her up, he suddenly swept her up into his arms and carried her back up the trail to their home.

She giggled softly, hiding her face in his neck. "I feel like Cavewoman, being carried off by Caveman!" she grinned. "The old joke used to be that he would club her over the head and drag her home by her hair."

"Well, if that is what you wish," he responded and started to put her down. "I will attempt to locate a club and—"

She held on tighter and clung to him. "Don't you dare!"

"But if you wish me to behave as a cave man..."

"Just shut up and take me to bed and ravish me," she murmured and kissed him, her body lush and eager in his arms.

It wasn't long before he did just that.

* * *

A soft grumble of thunder and the patter of rain brought Christine up from sleep enough to register it but not enough to fully wake her. Instead, she rolled over in Spock's arms and snuggled into the wonderful heat of his body. He draped an arm over her and pulled her close, but didn't wake either. The night had been spent in a prolonged session of lovemaking that had finally culminated with a soaring mind meld that sent them both spiraling into oblivion as they erupted into a simultaneous orgasm that left them both completely sated. And then they had collapsed into utter exhaustion and sleep.

Now as Christine found herself once more enveloped in the delicious heat of Spock's arms, she muzzily discovered herself growing aroused yet again. It was a lazy, sleepy sort of arousal but the knowledge that his naked body was pressed against hers and that all she had to do was slip her leg over his hip to bring him into her set her tingling at her very core. She opened her eyes and gazed at him in the dim, pre-light of the rainy, overcast dawn. She could just barely make out his features, but knew them so well by now that she didn't need the light to trace them with her eyes.

Gently, she moved her hand down her side and slid it between their bodies to find what she sought. With one fingertip, she touched him, so softly that he didn't even stir. She moved her finger over the silky skin and was pleased when she felt an answering twitch. Smiling, she continued to stroke him with her fingertips.

Spock moved in his sleep, shifting slightly, and his dark brows bunched together a little in a frown. Underneath her light manipulations, he was hardening rapidly and she finally decided it was time to wake him. Projecting through their bond, she sent him an image of a particularly erotic moment they had shared the night before and at the same time stroked the full length of his shaft.

His dark eyes were suddenly gazing at her as he drew in a soft gasp. "I thought you'd had enough last night to keep you a while," he said in a whisper.

"I will never have enough of you," she whispered back. "Are you interested in one more before you-know-who wakes up?"

"I think that is fairly obvious," he responded breathlessly. "But I think it will have to be a fast one. It is almost his waking time."

"Then stop talking so much," she murmured and leaned into his lips.

She still had him in her tantalizing grasp and he reached down to lift her leg over his thigh, touching her lightly as he did so. She was still soft and moist and very ready to receive him, and he flattened his broad palm on her buttocks cheek, pulling her pelvis against his. In response, she guided him to her portal and then released him. He did the rest, thrusting his hips into hers, pushing into her welcoming tightness.

In this posture, he couldn't penetrate deeply but she pressed against his shoulder. Obligingly, he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. Adjusting her position, she braced her hands against his shoulders and settled down astride him, his hard maleness sinking fully into her. It was such a delicious sensation that she held still for a few seconds, just feeling him inside her, then she began to move, rocking on him in an age-old rhythm.

Outside the thunder rumbled again, a little louder as she picked up speed and Spock slid his hands down to the curve of her hips, holding her firmly to him. His eyes locked on hers, his gaze intense, as she felt him swell and harden even more within her. Then he closed his eyes and dropped his head back, his expression suffused with incipient ecstasy.

She felt him gathering himself, his muscles rock hard between her legs, and his hips began to lift up underneath her. Suddenly, he groaned and his hands gripped her almost painfully, his hips bucking frantically up into her. And then she felt the hot pulse of his semen filling her. She arched back and took him fully, her body tightening in climax around him.

At that moment thunder crashed in startling accompaniment to their rapture and a second later Sapel's frightened cry sounded from his sleeping position near the rear of the cave.

It brought them immediately back to the present. "Uh-oh," Christine said. She bent down and kissed her husband.

"Perfect timing!" He kissed her back and she quickly dismounted, reaching over to snag the soft nightgown she'd brought back from the Romulan ship. Slipping it over her head, she got up and went to see about her child.

Spock lay back in the furs, feeling spent, listening to the rain and thunder rage outside the cave mouth. The gray light seeping in told him that it was time to be up and stirring, but there was not much they could do at the moment, so he took advantage of the situation. He had been disciplined his entire life to live to the dictates of a clock, but it was different here. There was no need to. He had found the pleasures of a rainy morning and a warm bed.

Christine came back with Sapel, having changed his diaper and comforted him, and now she brought him to their bed. He was more interested in watching the rain, though, and brave now in the presence of his parents, he crawled down to the end of the pallet of furs, sitting and staring in fascination at the storm. Christine shrugged and went to stoke the embers banked on the hearth, setting a stone bowl of water near to heat for tea and porridge. Then she rejoined Sapel.

Spock got up and went down the side branch of the cave where their "bad weather" latrine was located, then returned in a bit and pulled on his loin cloth and leggings. By that time, Christine had the tea steeped and the coarsely ground grain boiling.

Spock settled down cross-legged on the furs and accepted a cup of tea from his wife. Sapel stood up and leaned against his father's arm. "Dink," he said.

"It's hot," Spock warned. He blew on the liquid then carefully brought the cup to his son's lips and allowed him to have the tiniest of tastes. The herbal tea was a little bitter but Sapel was used to it. He smacked his lips and indicated he wanted some more.

"Here, baby, here's some that's cooler," Christine said and gave the youngster a small bowl with his own tea. "Don't give him the hot stuff, Spock. He'll burn himself."

"He'll be fine," Spock responded.

"Don't give him the hot stuff," she repeated, a little more forcefully and stared at him meaningfully to get her message across.

"I was quite careful with it," her husband answered and stared meaningfully back at her. "Your maternal instinct is sometimes too intensely protective."

"When we're talking about my baby, you bet it is," she retorted. " _This_ is why men don't give birth and women do. Hell hath no fury like a mother protecting her young." She handed over a bowl of porridge. " _Don't_ ... give him ... the hot stuff."

"Understood, wife," Spock sighed in resignation. "Here, Sapel. Do you want some cereal?" He dipped his carved wooden spoon, one of two that they had, into the steaming gruel and fed some to the child while Christine dished out some for herself.

"Have you given any more thought to the milk question?" she asked after a few minutes.

"Yes. I was planning on a capture attempt today, but this rain may delay that." He offered another spoonful of porridge to Sapel who ate it with relish. "I think I will carve another spoon for us instead."

"Good idea," Christine answered. "While you do that, I'm going to have another look at our Romulan survival book."

"Why?"

"I want to see if there's any instructions on how to make cheese or yogurt," she responded. "If we're going to have milk, I want to see how many ways we can use it."

* * *

There was a word for what Christine was watching, a word that was Spanish and had its roots in the American Southwest of several hundred years before. _Rodeo_. Not the proper Spanish pronunciation of "ro-DAY-o" but the Americanized version. "RO-DEE-OH." What made it all the more hilarious was that the cowboy involved was Vulcan and had never before attempted the feat.

It had started quite well, actually. Spock had spent a couple of days braiding together strips of rawhide, ending up with a serviceable length of rope. He formed a slipknot in one end and practiced tossing the lasso onto a tree stump until he was satisfied with his prowess.

Then the next morning, he, Christine and Sapel headed out to the plains above their camp to capture a _mesohippus_ mare. The little horse-like animals stood no higher than a Human's hips and were stocky and relatively short-legged. Their dun-colored hides, striped on the flanks with dark brown markings, blended well with the surrounding grasslands, and their herds numbered enough individuals to make a confusing presentation to any predators that stalked them. They were generally docile creatures without the intelligence to recognize Spock as a threat. He hunted them frequently but their memories were short and he was not one of the predators they were genetically programmed to recognize.

Thus, he felt that if he approached them quietly and projected comforting thoughts, he should be able to snag one of the mares without much trouble.

It proved a little bit more difficult than that. He had failed to take into consideration what Christine had said a few days before ... That hell hath no fury like a mother protecting her baby. This was a nursery herd, made up of mares and foals. Most of the year, the mezzies were presided over by a stallion, but in the spring time they separated themselves from the males and were led by a dominant mare, usually with a new baby by her side.

And now, as Spock slowly walked up to the herd of milling horses, getting his rope ready to toss over the neck of a young lactating female, the matriarch decided that she didn't like his looks. She didn't know what he was, but he wasn't equine and that was enough to settle the issue in her mind.

With a coughing bray, the mare burst from the pack and charged him, ears laid back and teeth bared. Even with her short legs, she could run twice as fast as he could and he hardly had time to register what was happening in time to leap aside. She swerved immediately, her three‑toed feet digging into the sod as she cornered and charged him again. Spock was too far from any trees or other shelter to attempt to reach one. The only thing close was the mezzie herd itself and he plunged into the roiling bodies, using them as a barrier between himself and enraged mare.

She brayed again, trying to get to him, evidently a command for the others to get out of her way, for they set up an even bigger commotion and he was hard-pressed to keep from being knocked down and trampled. All the while, the matriarch was bellowing her challenge and pushing through the other whinnying mares, their foals adding to the racket with their high-pitched bleating. Stamping feet and the crush of sweaty bodies churned up the ground, generating a pall of dust that added to the confusion.

Christine couldn't see well enough to discover what was happening but, from the noise and agitation of the horses, she was pretty sure that Spock was in trouble. But she had Sapel in her arms and couldn't leave him. She had no choice but to watch and wait.

And then the most amazing sight she'd ever seen burst out in the open with the suddenness of a bronc buster exploding into an arena. The big mare erupted from the fray with Spock hanging frantically onto her neck, one leg over her back as if he had been trying to mount her and she had bolted out from under him. His rope was around her neck and he was evidently attempting to tangle it in her front feet and bring her down.

She was having none of it. Screaming at the top of her voice, she bucked, twisted and kicked, trying to get her teeth into the horrible, frightening creature attacking her, her eyes wild with fright and fury, foam flying from her gaping mouth, ears laid back flat. He maintained his grip doggedly, a look of utter determination on his face, trying to use the leverage he had to her mane to throw her off balance.

The mare got her head bent around and seized her tormenter by his loose hide, in reality the buckskin shirt he wore. But she bit deep and Spock yelped as she took a chunk out of him, too. It provided the impetus he needed and he jerked himself up higher on her back. The extra weight made her miss her footing, stumble, and fall heavily.

It knocked the wind out of both of them, but Spock recovered just quickly enough to grab the end of his rawhide rope and whip a couple of loops around her muzzle, pulling it tight. He then fell across her neck and pinned her head to the ground while he secured it. She was trying to get out from under him, struggling wildly, as he worked frantically, grabbing one forefoot and tying it up close to her body.

Then he flung himself away as the mare vaulted to her feet. Three of them, anyway. She stumbled again and went down, got up and went into a frenzy of action. It was no use. She couldn't run with one foot tied and the rope muzzle prevented her from getting her teeth into the rawhide to bite it through. She fought furiously for a few minutes, then gave up, panting heavily, her breath rasping in and out of her lungs, glaring at him.

Spock took a minute to examine his wounds. He could feel bruises already appearing and, when he lifted his shirt, he found a nice set of teeth marks cut into his side. He raised an eyebrow at how lucky he had been. Given Vulcan anatomy, she had come uncomfortably close to his heart.

He looked up from his seat on the ground as Christine approached cautiously with Sapel. "Are you hurt?" she asked, keeping an eye on the mare.

"Minor injuries only," he responded. He gestured toward the horse. "It's your turn, Christine. I caught her. You milk her."

His wife stared incredulously at him. "You're joking!"

"I am not," he responded quite seriously, getting up with a groan. "I will hold her head, but you will have to milk her. I trust you brought something to catch the milk in."

Christine was speechless for a moment. "No ... I thought we'd be taking her back to the camp and do it there."

"In fact, that was my plan as well. However, I doubt that this animal will placidly allow us to lead her away." He sighed and flexed one arm to stretch a sore muscle. Then he said, "Empty your water bag. We're not that far from home. We can do without water until we return."

She reluctantly put Sapel on his feet a safe distance away and told him fiercely, "Stay there! Do not move!!" Her tone of voice was so forceful that he squatted down where he was and made himself small, his brown eyes huge. Satisfied that her son would stay put, Christine poured the water out of the skin bag she used and she and Spock cautiously approached the apprehensive mare. The animal attempted to hobble away, handicapped by her tied foot. Having no wish to frighten her further, Spock talked soothingly to her, projecting well-being, while Christine hung back a bit.

At last, Spock was within reach of the horse's head and took a firm hold on the make-shift halter. "All right, Christine," he said. "Be careful of her hind feet. I don't think she can kick but I'm not sure."

The woman walked slowly up to the animal's side and reached out to stroke her. The mare made an angry sound and gave a little hop that had evidently been meant as a kick. She couldn't manage it with one front foot out of commission, but she kept a wide eye on this new threat.

Christine bent and looked underneath the mare's flank. Sure enough, a milk-swollen udder with two teats nestled between the mare's hind legs and Christine gently reached to take hold of one.

The mare gave a strangled scream and launched herself into the air. Spock barely managed to hang onto her and it took a few minutes before she settled down enough for Christine to try again. The same thing happened as soon as she touched the mare's udder.

"Wait a minute," Christine said. "I've got an idea. Take off your shirt and blindfold her. Maybe she won't object so much if she can't see what's going on."

That sounded like a logical idea to Spock and he quickly stripped his buckskin shirt off over his head, draping and holding it over the horse's eyes. She stiffened in puzzlement, but held still under Spock's firm grip. "Okay, try it again," he directed.

But Christine was staring at his bare torso, where livid green bruises were beginning to appear, and especially at the crescent of teeth marks across his side. "My God! She really got you, didn't she?!"

"Never mind that!" he snapped. "Hurry. I don't know how long I can hold her."

Chastened, she quickly turned back to her task. Blinded, the mare held still, trembling, and Christine was finally able to give a gentle squeeze to one of the teats. Milk flowed immediately over her hand and she brought the water skin into position, doing a passable job at extracting the creamy yellow liquid.

"Well, this is something I never saw myself doing," she commented ironically, switching to the other teat and gently pulling it in a rhythmic motion. After a few moments, she said, "I think that's enough to start with. We've got to see if this stuff is even drinkable, after all."

"Go back with Sapel," Spock ordered, intent on the animal he held. "I don't know how she will react when I free her."

"Be careful!" she admonished him. "I don't want to have to scrape up your trampled bones!"

He waited while she hurried back to her little son and picked him up, moving still farther away. Then, keeping the mare blindfolded with his shirt, and working as quickly as he could with one hand, he untied the knot holding her foot and allowed her to set it down. Still she stood motionless, paralyzed by not being able to see around her.

Spock then gingerly unlooped his rope from her neck and from around her muzzle and let it drop. He made ready to run and then abruptly whipped the shirt away from her eyes, simultaneously throwing his arms up in the air and screaming loudly in the startled mare's face.

It triggered her "flight" instinct and she whirled and thundered back toward her herd. They all broke into a run and were soon lost in a cloud of dust.

Suddenly tired, Spock bent to retrieve his rope and turned to walk wearily to where his wife and child waited. With as much shaking as that milk had received, he thought wryly, it was a wonder it wasn't cheese already!

* * *

When they reached their campsite, Spock veered off and walked toward the pond. He hadn't said anything on the way back and Christine could feel his irritation simmering through their bond. As he moved away, she took a step after him and said, "I need to see to that bite."

"I will see to it myself," he responded tightly and kept walking.

"Hoookay," Christine answered to herself and took Sapel up to the cave to find him some lunch. She hung the precious container of milk in the cool darkness at the back of the cave until she had a little more time to test it, then turned to preparing a simple meal of baked tubers and bread. She could see Spock kneeling beside the water, delicately washing the area on his right side where he'd been bitten by the mare.

Sapel was watching him, as well. Though only a year and a half old by this planet's calendar, he was starting to show a precocious intellect. Christine wondered if all Vulcan children did. He was about on the level of a Human two-year-old and beginning to put simple sentences together. After he had gazed silently at his father for a while and chewed meditatively on a piece of flatbread, Sapel looked up at his mother. "Pa sad?" he asked her, conveying his meaning to her quite plainly.

She smiled and reached out to tuck his silky black hair behind one petite pointed ear. He was so like his father, she thought, so sensitive and intuitive. "Papa is just tired," she answered softly. "The horsie hurt him some."

"Bad!" he answered emphatically, his little slanted brows angling together.

"No, honey, the horsie wasn't bad. She was protecting herself and her family. Just like Papa and I protect you or each other." She smiled at him again, her blue eyes full of love. "Finish your lunch now, sweetie, and then it will be time for a nap."

Sapel did as he was told, but Christine's attention was again on her husband. He was still down by the pond, just standing with his back to the cave mouth, and she felt the agitation he was experiencing. The bond fairly vibrated with it.

Sapel was exhausted from the morning's excitement and went right to sleep after Christine had settled him into his bed. Then she stepped outside the cave and gazed down the path at the rigid figure by the water's edge. He had not put his shirt back on and now stood clad only in his leather breeches, loin cloth, and fringed knee-high moccasins, his hunting knife strapped in its constant place at his side. His long black hair was loose and hung about his shoulders, his skin bronzed from frequent exposure to the sun.

Quietly, she walked down the dirt path toward him. He was so beautiful, she thought, so much like an ancient American warrior. Or more likely, he was like an ancient Vulcan warrior, the distant ancestors whose blood still burned in his veins. In any case, she found him astounding.

He undoubtedly heard her coming but he did not turn, his back and shoulders tense. Reaching up, she laid her palm against the bare skin of his back and was surprised when he flinched away.

"Don't," he said stiffly. "Please."

"Are you badly hurt, Spock?" she asked, immediately worried, coming to his side and looking up into his face. His expression was closed, the Great Stone Mask firmly in place.

"I told you I have only minor injuries," he replied in a voice just short of being harsh.

"Then what is it?"

The thin line of his mouth got a bit tighter. "I simply wish to be left alone."

"Why? What's the matter?" she pressed him, worried.

"Nothing!" he snapped, frowning, then caught himself and pulled himself back under control. "Nothing is the matter."

"Spock ... don't go into your Über Vulcan act after all this time," she admonished him. "Tell me."

He looked away, his jaw working. He was fairly radiating anger, his chest rising and falling with the deeper breaths he was taking in order to calm himself. Finally he ground out in a low voice, "This morning. It was useless. All that work for nothing."

"We got the milk," she pointed out then stepped back as he swung on her, his brows low over hard eyes.

"A bag full! What good is that?!" he burst out, finally giving sway to his temper. "The whole purpose of this scheme was to provide Sapel with a supply of milk. The effort expended to obtain that one tiny bag of milk utterly defies logic! How many times a day must that action be repeated? How many mares will it take?"

He turned away, parking his hands on his hips, his arms akimbo in a defiant pose. Angrily, under his breath, he muttered, " _C'thia k'torri sakha't'michi'a kh'a'lah!_ "

"What? Spock, speak English."

He pinned her with a blazing glare. "Why should I speak English? Why don't you learn Vulcan?"

Christine was getting angry now, too. "Because I don't have the vocal apparatus to speak Vulcan!" she shot back. "My larynx won't make half the sounds needed to do it!" She mimicked his pose with her fists resting on her hips. "What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?!"

"Nothing is wrong with me!"

"Oh, God, you're not going into—"

"No, I'm not going into _pon_ _farr!_ Why do you always think I'm going into _pon farr_ _?!_ " he fairly shouted at her. "Every time my behavior is the least bit out of the ordinary, you automatically conclude it's _pon farr_ _!_ Is that the only Vulcan condition that was ever recorded in your database? I don't want to hear that asinine diagnosis again!"

Taken aback by his hostility, Christine was silent for a long moment, trying to evaluate the situation and make sense of it. Finally, she asked in a very small voice, "Then what, Spock?"

He covered his eyes with one hand and hung his head, visibly trembling now. "I'm tired, Christine," he answered in a shaky voice full of pain. "I'm tired of this place. I'm tired of killing. I'm tired of living like we do. I'm tired of everything. Some days I don't think I can make it another step. I just think about giving up."

Her heart seized in fear. She'd never heard Spock talk like this before and the medical professional in her recognized the symptoms immediately. Spock was showing classic signs of depression and stress. He had managed to hide it so well that she had never suspected how close he was to hitting the wall. She'd taken his innate strength and determination for granted, not bothering to consider that perhaps he was making it all look a lot easier than it actually was.

Gently, she put her arm around his waist and said, "Let's sit down, Spock. Sweetheart, you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here with you."

She guided him to one of the big rocks at the pool's edge and he let her sit him down there, with her close by his side, her arm still around him. She could feel the tremors shaking him now as he began to talk. It was as if a dam had burst and all that he'd been keeping inside came pouring out.

"I don't know how to do this, Christine!" he declared shakily, not looking at her, just talking. "I don't have a clue what I'm doing most of the time. I try and try to think of something that will give us an easier life, but I just don't know what to do! I'm not even capable of getting my son a bowl of milk to drink!"

Her heart went out to him and she drew him closer to her, holding him with all the tenderness she possessed. "You have kept us alive for the past two years," she soothed him. "You work harder than any man I've ever known. You put aside deeply ingrained cultural beliefs for the good of Sapel and me, risk your life time and again to bring us food, stand watch over us at night. You've done a job that I wouldn't have wished on anyone and done it well. No wonder you're tired!"

He sighed deeply against her. "The enormity of it just suddenly hit me when we were coming back," he said, quieter now. "There just seemed to be nothing but endless years stretching out before us. I suddenly didn't think I could make it."

"You can't think about it like that," she whispered. "You will go crazy if you do. All we can think about is one day at a time and preparing for the next season. That's enough. First thing we're going to do is forget about the milk project. It wasn't practical and there's no way it could have worked. We would have known that if we'd really thought it through. I mean, the only way to do it would be to have one or two, maybe three, animals in a domestic situation, and we'd have to milk them twice a day, every day. Even then it's probable that their milk supply would have dried up within a couple of months, until they were bred again and had a foal." She shook her head and said, "It's not logical. _C'thia k'torr_."

He lifted his head and stared at her. "I didn't think you spoke any Vulcan," he said accusingly.

"I know a phrase or two," she replied, pleased to see that he was feeling better. "And I know one more. _Kai'idth_ … what is ... is. Spock, we didn't ask to be brought here. We didn't ask to be in the position we're in. But we're here and we've done pretty damned good! And I think you're just about the most amazing man I've ever met!"

"Now you are attempting to win me over with flattery," he answered but with a hint of the old twinkle in his eyes.

"Whatever works," she responded, smiling at him. "And I also think that what you need is a vacation. I think you ought to spend the next few days doing nothing but loafing and lazing. No hunting, no working, nothing except relaxation. As your doctor, I'm making that a medical order!"

"And if I don't?"

"Then I will confine you to sick bay and put a security guard on you," she grinned.

"What security guard would that be?" he inquired.

"Sapel," she answered. "He's working for me now!"

That brought a genuine smile to Spock's face. "I'll have to see about that," he replied then leaned to kiss her and draw her into his arms. They sat in close embrace for a long time, and she felt love and relief radiating off him like the warmth of the sun.

* * *

Spock slept for two days. Not continually, but once he gave himself permission to do so, his body just seemed to collapse into much needed rest. He hadn't realized how absolutely bone‑tired he really was. Christine left him alone, understanding better than he had that he needed the quiet and the time to restore himself, and she kept Sapel occupied and sometimes literally out of his father's hair.

The first afternoon, when she went to put Sapel down for his nap, the boy fussed and said, "No! Papa!"

"Shhhh..." she whispered. "Papa needs to rest, Sapel. You need to sleep in your own bed."

"No!" He wriggled fiercely, trying to get down.

Spock opened his eyes. "It's all right, Christine. He can sleep with me," he said.

"Are you sure? I don't want him to disturb you," she answered uncertainly.

"He won't disturb me," Spock replied and patted the bed beside him. Sapel scampered over and threw himself down beside his father in delight. Spock caught his eye and warned, "Go to sleep! Or I'll make you go to your own bed. Understand?"

"'kay," the little boy said and obediently shut his eyes, feigning sleep.

Spock wasn't fooled but settled back down himself. He heard Christine chuckle softly and go back outside. Sapel flipped and flopped a few times but eventually genuine sleep did claim him and Spock was able to drift off again himself.

He woke to the faint clink of crockery and sleepily opened his eyes to see Christine kneeling beside the kitchen fire and stirring something in a carved pot. She added seasoning and stirred it some more. A delicious odor began to drift his way. She picked up her bone spatula and flipped over a tortilla grilling on the flat cooking stone, then went back to stirring the pot. She began to hum quietly to herself.

Sapel was still stretched out beside Spock, sleeping with his mouth open and in a contorted position that only children seemed to be able to achieve. Perhaps sensing that his father was now awake, he closed his mouth, stirred and muttered, then rolled over and burrowed into Spock's chest, digging one foot into Spock's belly in the process.

"Oof," Spock grunted involuntarily and reached down to extract his son's foot from his midsection.

Christine looked their way and smiled. "Well, it's about time. You two have been sawing logs all afternoon. Feeling better?"

"Yes. A bit stiff," her husband answered and stretched. "I am not used to sleeping in the middle of the day."

"You needed it," she replied.

Sapel sat up, looking fuzzily around him, and announced, "Go pee pee."

"You need to or you have already?" Christine sighed and started to rise.

"Don't bother," Spock broke in. "I'll take him. I need to make a trip myself." He got to his feet, clad only in his loin cloth, as he was used to sleeping, and hoisted his son up under one arm.

As they started out of the cave, Christine said, "We should be ready to eat by the time you boys get back from doing your business. And make sure he washes his hands good!"

"Yes, Mother," Spock responded patiently and took the path toward their outside toilet downstream from the campsite. Christine shook her head and sighed. Then she flipped the cooked tortilla off the grill and set another one to cooking, pleased that Spock had taken her advice to heart and was actually resting his exhausted body and soul.

* * *

The next afternoon found Spock and Christine sitting underneath a spreading tree upstream from their camp, relaxing as Sapel explored and chased insects and ran on his stubby legs for the sheer joy of running. Sighing happily, Christine reached over and took her husband's hand in her own, squeezing it. He squeezed gently back, glancing at her with a smile.

"Still feeling stressed?" she asked.

"If I allow myself to feel that way," he answered honestly. "But right now, I am finding this time to be quite refreshing."

"We both needed it. We work so hard to get the things we need, it's easy to fall into the mindset that we can never take any time off," she mused.

Sapel ran up with a small mollusk-type shell he'd found, its owner long gone, and Christine admired it. He left it in her care and hurried back to find more treasures.

"He is quite amazing," Spock said softly, leaning back against the tree trunk. "I would never have believed that I would enjoy a small child as much."

"Were you ever around children?" Christine asked.

"Only my peers when I was a child," Spock answered quietly and then was silent for a long while before saying introspectively, "Vulcan children can be quite cruel. Surprisingly so. If we were at home, I do not think I would want Sapel raised in a purely Vulcan environment."

"That _does_ surprise me," Christine responded. "I would have thought that you would insist on it."

"Many things about the Vulcan lifestyle are good and worthy of emulation, but there are things I have learned in Human company that are far better. For instance, when I was a child, my father would never have considered allowing me to sleep with him. It would have been as unthinkable as committing murder. No Vulcan father would have."

"I'm glad one Vulcan father did," she whispered and he glanced at her, looking rather embarrassed. She went on, "Did it make you hate your father, Spock? Is that the trouble between you?"

"Hate is an emotion," he answered automatically. "I do not experience hate." He realized that he was responding as he had been trained and continued, "No ... what I felt was ... despair. I was a disappointment to him, by my very existence. Because I was Human. It did not matter that my birth was no accident or that it had taken great effort on the part of the medical and scientific communities to even bring me into existence. He could never quite get past that horrible, inescapable fact ... my humanity."

Spock sighed and pulled a long stem of grass out of the ground, beginning to methodically strip it apart with his thumbnails. "I doubt that Sarek was even aware of it. He would argue that his wife was Human, after all, and that was ample proof that he had no antipathy towards Humans. But that prejudice was there, nonetheless. That Humans are inferior to Vulcans, and I was Human, therefore, I could not be equal to full Vulcans. And yet he expected me, indeed drove me all my life, to be the perfect Vulcan. I believe now that, in his mind, buried so deeply that even he would not acknowledge it ... I was expected to be the perfect son, to follow perfectly in his footsteps, to be the replacement for the one who had betrayed and deserted him."

Christine looked puzzled. "You've lost me," she said.

"My older brother ... Sybok."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Christine answered.

"He is my half-brother, actually. Much older than I. I barely knew him as a child before he turned his back on the Vulcan way of life and our father disinherited him." Spock kept his eyes on the ground and on the grass he was pulling apart. "Sarek had married very young, in the Vulcan tradition of bonding as children, and then consummated his marriage to T'Rea upon reaching maturity and entering his first _pon farr_. Sybok was born ten months later but his mother died shortly after giving birth. I don't think Sarek ever quite forgave him for that ... for 'killing' his wife." Spock's eyebrow lifted sardonically. "He is a great one for pointing the finger of blame at others. In any case, Sarek did not remarry for another 52 years, until he met my mother and scandalized the family with his bonding to her."

He paused and pulled another blade of grass. "I never knew the entire circumstances but from what I learned in later years, Amanda's pregnancy was a complete surprise. No Vulcan and Human had ever successfully mated. Sarek felt strongly that she would not carry the embryo more than a month before spontaneously aborting and decided that it was illogical to attempt to prevent it. I heard that Sybok took Amanda's side of the argument and browbeat Sarek into allowing her to undergo the procedures that would assure the baby's survival, using the argument that otherwise he would be losing her exactly as he had lost T'Rea. In any case, Amanda won the day with Sybok's help and the long and costly procedure of embryonic transplantation and genetic manipulation was performed successfully. As you can see."

She smiled. "I'm glad! Otherwise, I would not have had the pleasure of your company!"

"Sybok was in and out of my life until I was seven. He was something of my champion, actually. He and my mother seemed to be the only ones who did not care that I was of mixed blood or who did not require me to pass constant tests to 'prove' my 'Vulcanness'."

Spock let his gaze turn far away. "It was my _kahs'wan_ trial that proved the final breaking point. Sarek was raising me as the perfect Vulcan and insisted on my following every tradition. Sybok had by this time forsaken tradition and was following a group of free-thinkers. He felt that _kahs'wan_ was a needlessly dangerous test in the modern world and he argued that Sarek should not require it of me. This time Sarek was so incensed at his interference that he banished him and disinherited him from the family. We were forbidden to even speak his name. That was the last time I ever saw him."

"Where is he now?" Christine asked, her heart twisted in sympathy.

Spock shook his head. "I have no idea. I tried finding some trace of him when I reached adulthood and went into Starfleet, but he has disappeared. I do not even know if he is still alive."

"Spock, I'm so sorry," she murmured, reaching out to touch him on the arm. "How sad for you."

He sighed and said with resignation, " _Kai'idth._ "

Sapel broke his reverie at that moment by bolting up and hurling himself onto his father with a squeal. Spock automatically caught him and the child threw his arms around his neck, laughing in delight.

Spock hesitated for a second, then hugged the toddler to him, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the tousled dark head.

Christine heard him whisper, " _Cha'i...cha'i_..." and smiled as she translated the words.

"My son..." he was saying. "My son..."

* * *

When Christine slipped into the furs a couple of weeks later, having gotten Sapel to sleep and finished the household chores of banking the fire and checking to make sure that their door gate was secure, Spock welcomed her into his arms and pulled her close to him. It took her only a few seconds to discover that he had nothing on, a fact that sent a surge of arousal pulsing through her.

He kissed her long and languidly, his large hands roaming over her body, one of them coming to rest on her thigh and sliding up under her gown until he cupped her bare hip. When their lips parted, she commented softly, "My, you're feeling frisky tonight. You must have gotten all rested."

"Indeed," he murmured in reply, taking her lips once again in a more urgent kiss, his hand massaging her buttocks cheek and pressing her harder against his growing erection. Pulling away once more, he asked, "Are you rested? Is this something that would please you?"

"Mmmmm ... you always please me, Spock," she smiled, offering her mouth to him again and running her hand down his back. "It might not be the best time to do this, though."

"Why is that?" he asked, kissing her cheek and jaw and throat.

"I may be about to ovulate," she answered.

" _May_ be?"

"Well, my schedule has been a little messed up since Sapel was born and with nursing and all. My cycle is still a little sporadic." She stopped him and looked into his eyes. "I thought you could tell. My pheromones or something."

"I can. I do not detect any difference," he replied.

She relaxed. "Okay, I'll take your word for it. Hang on, let me get this off." She sat up and peeled the Romulan gown over her head and then settled back into his arms, loving the sensation of his heated skin against hers.

They gave no further thought to the problem of fertility and turned their entire attention to their love play. He was rested and eager, hungry to have her beneath him, and as soon as he was sure that she was ready, he moved atop her and between her welcoming thighs. He sank into her with practiced ease, burying himself hilt deep in her hot sheath.

Pausing there, savoring the feel of her around him, he placed his fingertips onto her psi points and slipped into her mind as effortlessly as he had her body. They lost themselves in the meld, each aware of both their bodies and yet transported to another time and place. In their minds, he took them to a moonlit beach, the sand beneath them warm from the day's sun, the quiet surf whispering as it rushed up the beach and then slid back again. Even the water was warm, enveloping them with incredible sensation when it did occasionally wash over them.

They noticed only their own heat as he began to move within her, the rigid contours of his penis stimulating all the sensitive spots inside her. She arched beneath him, giving him better access, allowing him to penetrate deeper. So deep that she felt the tip bumping against her cervix, sending her into breathless, whirling ecstasy. Digging her nails into his back, she lifted her hips up beneath him, opening to him as much as she could, inviting him to lose himself completely in her.

He responded with enthusiasm, her climax triggering his own. He gasped and thrust hard, shuddering as his semen spurted deep within her. They hung there on the knife edge of rapture for a long moment, then she lowered her hips and relaxed. He did not. Far from sated, he wanted more of her and began rocking against her once more.

The motion sent her soaring back up. Still immensely sensitive inside, the gentle movement in her heated, wet passage made her gasp and clutch him harder. Taking his fingers away from her face, their meld now singing back and forth between them, he hefted himself up onto his elbows and plunged into her with renewed vigor, thrusting steadily and with easy rhythm.

She writhed beneath him, her skin growing slick with sweat and the scent of her heated body exciting him all the more. It didn't take long to build back up to a fever pitch and this time he pounded into her with a strength just short of roughness. She loved it, wrapping her long legs around his hips, holding onto him and letting his passion carry her away. Her wild abandon drove him over the edge and he erupted for a second time within her, his skin prickling with the intense sensory overload of it. Time slowed and it seemed that he pumped into her forever before his body was drained and he collapsed weakly on her.

She hugged him close, still relishing the feel of him inside her, even though his erection was deflating rapidly. Pulling his face to her, she kissed him soundly then allowed him to move off her and fall onto his back beside her, his face flushed and his breath still coming heavily. She looked over at him and smiled. "I love you, Spock," she whispered, her hand seeking his.

He gazed back at her, his dark eyes soft and warm. It was still difficult for him to say it and he answered in a deep murmur that she understood. " _T'chal'ya, t'hy'la_." It didn't exactly mean "I love you" but the sentiment was there nonetheless.

She snuggled against his shoulder and fell into contented sleep almost immediately.

* * *

Christine shut her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands against them, trying to get the world to stop spinning. She was aware of contacting the ground hard but it seemed far away, a distant event. Then she was coming up from a deep, dreamless sleep, knowing that her face was being stroked and Spock's urgent voice was saying, "Christine! Wake up _, t'hy'la_ , wake up!"

She mumbled and wondered why the cave was so bright. Was it morning? Why was Spock holding her like that? What was wrong?

Groggily she managed to open her eyes and realized that she was lying in the meadow, her head cradled in his lap, and he was bending over her with outright fear on his face. Then it came back to her. She'd been collecting ground nuts with Sapel and had been squatting down, searching through the grass. Spock was coming back from hunting and Sapel had spotted him crossing the meadow toward them.

He shrieked, "Papa!" and she had stood up suddenly from the squatting position. As a nurse, she knew clinically what she'd done to herself. The blood constricted by her folded knees had rushed to her brain and the sudden increase in blood pressure had made her faint.

She felt foolish pulling a stunt like that and now she attempted to push herself up from Spock's lap. "I'm okay," she insisted. As soon as she sat up, her head spun again and she clutched reflexively at him to steady herself.

"You are not well yet, Christine," he warned her in a serious tone. "Please do not move until you are certain your dizziness has passed."

"I'm okay, really," she repeated. "Just a fluctuation in my blood pressure. Nothing to worry about."

"I _do_ worry about it," he responded firmly. "Have you ever experienced this sort of thing before?"

"No," she admitted, then said, "I am fine! Please let me get up."

Skeptical, he did so, but rose with her and made sure she didn't fall again. The world seemed to quiver a bit but then settled down and was steady. She looked up at him with more bravura than she actually felt. "There, see? All better. I just got up too fast, that's all. So ... any luck?"

Still watching her closely, Spock gestured across the meadow to where the carcass of an antelope lay where he'd dropped it when he'd seen her collapse and had sprinted to her side.

"Oh, good! I need a new hide to tan for leather! Sapel's outgrowing his clothes again and you could use new uppers to your moccasins," Christine said cheerily, trying to deflect Spock's worry about her.

"I need to plan on a bison hunt," he answered, still watching her for any sign of returning dizziness. "We will all three need new shoes this winter."

"Right. Well ... um ... why don't you go get that buck up to the butchering site and Sapel and I will finish getting these nuts picked up," she said, his scrutiny beginning to make her a little nervous.

Spock only nodded silently and turned to walk back to his kill. Sapel had been standing to one side, sucking on a finger, not understanding what had happened to his mother or why his father was so worried. He could only perceive the tension in the air and he didn't like it. He took his finger out of his mouth and asked in an uncertain voice, "Mama?"

She turned and smiled, her warm blue eyes reassuring. "Oh, lovey, did Mama frighten you? It's okay! I just fell down! Mama's not hurt, sweetie boy." She swept him up in her arms and hugged him to prove it. He could feel her love radiating out from her soul and it wrapped him like a warm blanket. "Come on and help Mama pick up these ground nuts, okay? Then we'll hurry back home and you can help me fix these."

"Go Papa?" he suggested, pointing to his father's tall figure striding across the field to retrieve the antelope.

"Not this time, sweetie. You come with me. I'll tell you what ... when I skin the antelope, you can have the tail, okay? Then you can play like you're an antelope, too."

Sapel grinned happily at that and his mother set him down. Hurriedly they finished gathering the ground nuts they had dug and put them in Christine's carrying basket. She glanced up and saw that Spock had shouldered the buck and was carrying it effortlessly to the site by the creek where they butchered their kills. His enormous strength never ceased to amaze her. Without him, she didn't think they could survive here. A Human male alone would have difficulty doing all that Spock did by himself.

She hefted the basket up onto the top of her head. It was something she'd seen done in countless cultures and had been surprised that it worked, providing the burden wasn't too heavy. The balanced load for short distances kept the strain off her shoulders or back, allowing her to carry it with greater ease than attempting to pack it other ways.

Steadying the basket with one hand, she set off toward the camp, Sapel scampering after her, making his usual stops and detours to explore the world around him. It was late summer and there was lots for a curious child to see. He examined flowers and rocks, insects and small animals.

Christine smiled, thinking about the many times she had simply sat back and watched him learn about his world. Sometimes she would find him squatted down a prudent distance away from a busy trail of biters, watching them hurry back and forth on their ceaseless food gathering expeditions, following a straight chemical trail laid down by their scouts. Other times, he spent hours gathering pretty and sparkly rocks washed clean along the creek bed. As the weather heated up, he waded ankle deep in the creek and couldn't get enough of the little schools of tiny fish that inhabited the shallow pools. She always kept an eye on him to make sure he was safe, but otherwise allowed him the freedom to observe his surroundings on his own terms.

Now, as they reached the campsite, he took off running to where Spock was hoisting the buck up by its hind legs from a large level tree limb beside the creek. It was ideal for holding a carcass for butchering and skinning. It was an everyday occurrence in Sapel's life and he showed no interest at all in the fact that this animal had been alive only a short while before. It was simply a routine part of his existence.

Once Spock had the carcass secured, he proceeded to the next step — bleeding the animal. Placing a deep stone tub underneath the antelope's dangling head, he drew his knife and quickly made a long, clean slit down the jugular vein. At once blood gushed and began dribbling into the tub.

Satisfied, Spock knelt down and pulled a handful of grass from the green sward and cleaned the knife blade with it. Then he threw the grass away and slipped the blade back into the leather sheath at his side. Sapel was watching him and, as Spock stood back up, the little boy reached up and touched the knife hanging at his father's side. Spock caught his telepathic yearning as he did so.

"No, Sapel, not yet," he said quietly, looking down at his son. "When you are older, I will make you a flint blade but the steel knives are only for Mama and me."

Sapel looked disappointed and chagrined, his lower lip beginning to push out. Spock lifted an appraising eyebrow at the pouty expression. "Sulking will do no good," he stated firmly. "Now, go and help Mama while I put my bow and quiver away. Perhaps later I will take you swimming in the big pond. Provided that your behavior is acceptable, that is."

Sapel glanced up warily to gauge his father's sincerity, but could not read anything in the serene, stony features. Finally, he said, "...'kay..." and turned to trudge back to where Christine was emptying the basket of ground nuts out to sort them.

She noted his woebegone expression and smiled as she understood. Sapel was going into the Terrible Two's and was also becoming aware that he and Spock were alike in a lot of ways, the most important being that they were both male.

Somewhere and at some time, his child's mind had registered that his body was built like Spock's, only smaller, and that his mother was fundamentally different. He was beginning to think like a boy and to want to do "boy stuff". In other words, he was beginning to worship his father and wanted to do absolutely everything he did.

* * *

Christine's eyes snapped open just as her stomach did a flop and announced that something was very, very wrong. She vaulted out of Spock's arms and fled the cave, just making it outside before the first bout of vomiting came.

Leaning against the cliff face for support, her other hand clutched her midriff, which cramped and tried to turn inside out once again.

She felt large, warm hands steadying her, one on her shoulder, the other on her forehead, holding her head still as she retched. He said nothing, although she was faintly aware of his alarm radiating through their bond.

When she was done, she tried to spit but the action of working her tongue around to generate saliva nearly triggered another dry heave. "Wait," he said and left her for a moment. Then he was back and was holding a gourd dipper of cool water to her lips. "Rinse your mouth out," he instructed. She did as she was told, rinsing and spitting until the taste of bile was washed away. "Now, try drinking a sip. Just enough to wet your throat."

When she had complied and was sure the water wasn't going to come right back up, she let Spock lead her to their bed. After he had her settled, he lay down behind her and carefully took her into his arms, as they had been sleeping before.

"Lie quietly," he said. When he felt that she had relaxed somewhat, he continued, "Do you still feel sick? Do you think you have contracted a stomach virus or something similar? Your fainting last week and now this..."

She tensed a bit in his arms and didn't answer. He could feel her turmoil and grief and asked with concern, " _T'hy'la_? What is it?"

Bringing one hand up to cover her eyes, she suddenly sobbed and answered in a strained voice, "Spock ... I think I'm pregnant."

The pronouncement stunned him into silence and his mind quickly reviewed the past few times they'd made love. He hadn't detected any change in her and they'd been careful to avoid another pregnancy since Sapel's birth. Spock did a lightning calculation back. Sapel had been born in the spring beginning their second year here. Another full year had passed and they were now in their third summer on Terra Two. It took fifteen turns of the planet's moons to complete one full year. By this planet's calendar, Sapel was twenty months old, but his predominantly Human genetics made him nearly two by Earth standards. It was hard to keep straight and Spock was sure that the same conflict between T2's cycle and inbred Human ones had also served to throw Christine's hormones into chaos.

She turned over to face him and snuggle into the warm comfort of his chest. He drew her nearer and she reached up to scratch her nose as his chest hair tickled it. Still, she loved the feel of it, loved the masculine smell of his skin, loved the hard muscles of his pectorals against her cheek.

Closing her eyes, she slipped her arm across his ribs and held him firmly. "I'm sorry, Spock," she whispered.

"For what?" he responded, surprised. "It is as much my doing as yours! I am fairly certain that you did not conceive this child by yourself!"

She couldn't help laughing a little. "No ... it was certainly a mutual endeavor. One I enjoyed quite a lot. But ... what are we going to do? Another mouth to feed..."

"We shall do what people have always done," he answered quietly, massaging her back. "We shall adjust to it and welcome this new child and go on with our lives."

That brought fresh tears welling up and she gulped them back. "I love you, Spock," she murmured against his chest.

He enveloped her with feelings of warmth and comfort. "Go back to sleep, _t'hy'la_ ," he answered softly, stroking her hair. "It isn't time to get up yet. Just rest now." He held her until he could feel her breathing even out, then he lay back and turned his thoughts to planning for the next year.

* * *

Christine just about had the antelope hide to the stage she wanted it. It had been soaked, de-haired, scraped, soaked again, twisted, stretched and worked until it was soft as butter. She had sun bleached it, too, so that it was a pale gold. She thought she could get enough yardage out of it to make Spock and Sapel matching vests. She'd been collecting decorations as well and had quite a selection of small animal bones, feathers, quartz, pebbles and tiny shells from the creek. She was looking forward to creating these garments.

Then she paused as she held the supple leather and thought instead of baby clothes and bedding. The leather was already incredibly soft. A little more working and it would be like velvet.

She looked across the clearing to where her husband sat in the shade, a hide apron spread over his lap, knapping out flint arrow points and other instruments. Sapel squatted down beside him, fascinated by the work. The boy was a miniature version of Spock and Christine smiled warmly at her two Vulcans huddled together, their dark heads bending over the toolmaking. She had always thought the Vulcans were a handsome people and Spock had inherited all of their exotic beauty. It had knocked her for a loop the first time she'd laid eyes on him. There was something magical about a Vulcan, something that resonated up from the distant reaches of myth and memory. Elfin, perhaps, with the ears and almond-shaped eyes, or cat-like maybe. Mysterious and far-seeing, in any case, and Spock was no exception, for all his Human blood.

Sapel had every bit of his father's looks. At times, when he ran naked through the waving green grass, flowers in his hair and bee pollen bright on his cheeks, he seemed like a fairy child, wild and free and filled with the joy of life. In the dusk of evening, as the moonlight pooled in liquid puddles and he leaped to catch glitter bugs that winked on and off just out of his reach, there were times when she expected him to launch skyward on gossamer wings and disappear in a sprinkling of stardust. A changeling child, not her own baby boy any longer.

Christine rested her hand delicately on her abdomen, trying to envision the tiny life within, wondering if it would be the same. Once she had acknowledged the fact of it, Christine found herself accepting her pregnancy with a calmness and assurance that had not been there the first time. It was so different this time compared to that first. She had been caught so unprepared. Her mind turned back to those first weeks after Spock had gone through _pon farr_ and they had come together as mates. Mates, yes, but not quite husband and wife. Not yet. That was to come.

She had long dreamed of making love with him and that first time, when they'd come together as the thunderstorm raged outside their cozy haven, when his lips had pressed hotly against hers and his arms had drawn her close, was all that she could have hoped for. She still found herself tingling with latent pleasure at the thought of it. If she closed her eyes, the scene was still vivid in her mind ... is naked body moving over hers, the golden firelight limning the bulging muscles of his biceps and shoulders as he braced himself above her, his long hair painted with deep ruddy highlights by the flames, the fine sculpted face intent with the passion and ecstasy that was gripping him.

She could still feel the tightness and resistance of her body as he pushed into her for the first time, gently but insistently, allowing her to grow used to him but maintaining the pressure until he was firmly seated within her. She welcomed him eagerly, regretting only that she seemed so artless in the ways of love. But he was the same, his experience lying solely in a few fumbling experiments from his youth and early days in Starfleet.

It was remarkable, though, how easily they united into a single entity, as if they had only been apart for a while and now were connected once more. Their bodies and minds melded together as if they had always been joined, and when he gave a shuddering heave and began to work his hips against her in a rhythm born of instinct and time, she had slid her hands up across his naked back and felt the muscles gliding beneath his skin and had given herself over totally to the moment. He was everything she had dreamed about and the reality of his presence was reaffirmed each time she opened her eyes and looked up into the familiar, beloved face, inches from her own, and knew that this time it was no fantasy.

But his unearthly nature had quickly made itself known when, a few days later, he had slipped into _pon farr_ and taken her into the long, nearly insensate mating that followed. He had kept her mind diverted from her body during that time, protecting her from the violence and agony of unending copulation with a partner whose anatomy was not as Human as it seemed. She had come back to herself wracked in pain and, despite his tender care of her, she found herself having second thoughts about a sexual relationship with him.

She had never expected him to injure her as he had, albeit unintentionally. Would this happen every time they had sex? Surely he would tell her if that were the case. Spock was one of the gentlest, most caring men she'd ever known, and she could not believe that he would be so insensitive as to inflict such a thing on her. But more than that, she found that she was feeling a bitter disappointment and vague anger at being, for all intents and purposes, unconscious during their lovemaking. Of course, she knew it hadn't been "love making". It was hormone-induced breeding, almost animal in its intensity, and she wouldn't have been able to endure the pain if she'd been awake. But deep inside, she felt betrayed because Spock had engaged in intercourse with her and she had not been able to share the experience with him.

A memory long buried reared up with force. She was in college, it was Saturday night, and she was at a party. Everyone was drunk, including her. Extremely drunk. So drunk that she had only just managed to stagger into a bedroom before passing out cold on the bed. When she came to, she found herself half naked and her boyfriend in a similar state, his eyes closed as he blissfully pumped away atop her, oblivious to anything but his own pleasure. She was too drunk to care at the time and had passed out once more just about the time he climaxed. He swore up and down later that he had no recollection of the incident, but it had haunted her nevertheless and now her sense of violation came back full blast.

It had taken her a long time to work through that subconscious quagmire. Finally she made herself realize that Spock had not taken advantage of her during the _pon farr_. Nor had he raped her in a drunken stupor. She had offered herself willingly to him and he had exercised as much control as he possibly could over the biological demons that held him in their grip. But he had gained no pleasure from the experience. It had been excruciating for him, too, and he had done his best to shield her. She realized that, during the time of the blood fever, he had been with her, guiding her mentality to places far away from the sweat-soaked, shuddering bodies coupling on the cavern floor. It was as much for his sanity as hers. And, when he had finally come back to himself and found her sprawled beneath him, limp and pale, he had felt shame and grief at what he had done to her.

She hadn't been prepared for the pregnancy that followed, either. At first she could only see that he had impregnated her during a violent, mindless episode. It was struggle enough for the two of them to survive here. Adding a baby to their situation truly made her panic. And, despite their bond, she didn't feel like a wife. It was all still too new, too traumatic. She loved Spock but a true intimacy and trust had not developed yet between them. That would grow with time as their bond strengthened and deepened.

Coming back to the present, Christine smiled as she gazed at the man once more across from her and let her hand slip lightly over her still flat stomach. A lot had happened in the past two years. She felt closer now to Spock than anyone she'd ever known. She could almost feel his heart beating and his lungs drawing air, could almost feel when the wind stirred his hair or rain caressed his face. He truly was her bonded mate, her husband in every sense of the word. And she found the idea that she was once more carrying a child within her, his child, conceived during the full expression of their love and oneness, to be a very magical thing.

He sensed her watching him and looked up to meet her gaze, his dark eyes soft and affectionate. She suddenly felt him within her, filling her with a glow as warm and golden as the sun, coating her in its heat and promise. Closing her eyes for a second, she projected the feeling back at him, pleased when his lips spread into a real smile.

Everything was going to be all right, she felt him tell her. Everything...

* * *

Sapel was bored. He was sitting on the banks of the pond, despite the standing rule that he was not to go there by himself, and resolutely tossing pebbles into the water to make ripples. He'd been doing this for quite a while, seeing how far he could throw a rock, watching the little fishes come up to the surface to investigate, enjoying a wide-winged water fly hovering over the surface, picking off tiny insects that swarmed there. Normally he liked throwing rocks in the water, but today it was boring. Especially when there was nothing else to do. After a while, he dumped the rest of his rocks on the bank and climbed back up to the big shade tree that spread above the opening to their cave home.

His mother was still asleep on the hide blanket she'd unfolded for them to take their afternoon nap. It was an unseasonably warm autumn day and they were taking advantage of the weather while it lasted. The summer heat had barely broken as fall slowly approached. It was still in the upper 90's, by the Fahrenheit scale, though the nights held a nip of change after the sun had set. It was all normal for him, though, for his child's mind lived in the present and did not conceive of yesterday or tomorrow. He was used to the heat, his skin browned from going naked or at most wearing a loin cloth as his father did. His mother wore one too, plus a cover over her breasts. He occasionally still wanted to suckle but she wouldn't let him anymore, explaining that he was a big boy now and big boys didn't do that. He thought that might be why she'd covered herself up like that, though he and his Papa didn't cover their chests up.

He frowned as he gazed down at his mother. He didn't understand what had been wrong with her lately. It seemed like she spent a lot of time lying down and resting. Sometimes she got sick at her stomach and threw up. Other times, she just seemed exhausted and didn't want to play with him. Instead, she'd send him to entertain himself or perhaps see if his Papa had something he could do.

If Papa was at home, he welcomed Sapel's company and sometimes took him along on short hikes outside their campsite, but never on his frequent hunting trips. When Papa gathered up his bow and quiver and spear, he invariably ordered Sapel to stay behind. That rankled the boy. He wanted to go and help Papa hunt the animals. He was big now. He could do it.

Papa had left about noon to hunt horses. He liked to do that because the plains animals would be lethargic and sleepy in the heat of the day and easier to approach. And Papa didn't mind the heat. In fact Papa liked it hot. He sometimes thought about a hot, dry place and scary orange sky. _Home_. The fleeting images puzzled the boy and he couldn't figure out what made Papa think that way. _This_ was home and it didn't look like that.

Sapel shrugged it off and thought about the horses. He knew without being told that this was where Papa had gone today. He'd picked up on his father's telepathic musings. He didn't know that, however. He just "heard" Papa in his mind and didn't think any more about it than when he heard him with his ears. On this particular occasion, he had caught the image of sleepy horses and a kill in Papa's mind and knew that this was his destination.

After seeing Papa off, Mama had made lunch for herself and Sapel, then had spread their blanket under the tree. Sapel had napped briefly but awakened to the sound of a bird giving its scratchy call in the branches high above them. He'd tried to see it but couldn't in the dense foliage. It finally flew away. But by this time, he was wide awake.

Now he looked at his mother, stretched comfortably on her back, deep asleep. He poked her with his bare foot but it only made her turn over on her side. Uncomfortably, he reached down and grasped himself through his loin cloth. He needed to go pee pee but she didn't want to wake up and take him. Jittering, he made an instant decision. He had to go now and couldn't wait for her to finish her nap; he simply decided to go by himself. He was a big boy and knew where he was supposed to go. He'd gone there with Papa lots of times.

A little downstream of their camp was a place shielded by a copse of bushes where the bank of the creek was slightly undercut and hung over a section of fast flowing water. They used it as a toilet and let the swift current flush away any sign of waste. Sapel pushed down his little loin cloth and let it fall around his ankles. He knew not to get too close to the edge but was practiced at standing on the bank and letting his stream arc out into the creek. He always thought this was hysterically funny and he giggled as he did it now.

Once done, he stepped out of the cloth tangling around his ankles and left it lying where it had fallen. He felt much better naked, anyway. Scampering back toward camp, he suddenly paused as his attention was caught by a bright bug on the opposite bank. The creek was low here and they had set stepping stones in it as a ford. He had been across it many times in the company of his parents and thought nothing about hopping across the stones now.

The bug took wing and flew a short distance before coming to light on a tall stem of grass. Sapel followed it, but the same thing happened when he got near. Again he followed the bug and again it flew away. Sapel doggedly trailed it, determined to capture the jewel-bright insect. The hillside sloped up away from the creek and he found himself standing on the level plain across from their home. The bug flew off again but this time he forgot all about it.

He had been here lots of times, too, and wasn't afraid. The sun-dried grass was deep, coming about to his waistline, and he had no trouble seeing across the rolling prairie. Far off, he could see the horse herds. They were standing quietly, most of them with heads dipped in a sleepy posture, their tails lazily swishing at flies. Heat shimmered on the plains as the drone of insects in the trees behind him underscored the drowsy afternoon.

Sapel wasn't drowsy, though. Looking toward the horses, he detected a familiar presence in that direction. "Papa!" he cried and set off at a run.

* * *

Christine murmured and lazily opened her eyes, looking up into the thick foliage of the tree spread above her. Bright blue sky shone through the gently moving leaves and the sun winked through now and then, unbearably bright. That's what had woken her. The sun in her eyes.

She smiled and rolled over onto her side, her hand moving to cover her abdomen. Nearly to her third month of pregnancy, the nausea was just about gone and her belly had just begun to show a hint of the roundness that was to come. She imagined the tiniest flutter inside, barely there, but it focused her attention inward. _Are you there, baby?_ she thought. _Was that you I just felt? Are you my baby girl or my baby boy? If you're a girl, I think we'll name you Jennifer, after my dad's mother. Or maybe Amanda, after your Daddy's mom. Or both. Jennifer Amanda. Would you like that?_

Still smiling, she reached to touch her other baby but found the place beside her empty. She opened her eyes and confirmed the fact that Sapel was no longer beside her. It didn't worry her. He sometimes woke up from his nap first and played quietly.

Sitting up, Christine looked around for her son but didn't see him. She got to her feet and walked into the cave. "Sapel?" she called.

There was no answer and the merest hint of concern began to creep into her. It took her only a few minutes to determine that he was not anywhere within their cave home. Coming back outside, she visually searched for him, to no avail. "Sapel?!" she called again, louder.

Only silence answered her and she stepped up her search, checking the woodpile, the butchering site, the place where she worked on hides, then, with a note a real fear becoming evident, she hurried down the path to the pond.

There she found where he had sat and tossed rocks into the water, but no evidence that he had gone in. Nevertheless, she quickly walked the perimeter of the pool, straining to see into the clear water for any sign of him. There was nothing.

She backtracked, calling his name over and over, then followed the creek down toward the latrine area. There her heart leaped as she found his loin cloth lying on the bank. He must have come down to relieve himself, she reasoned, and frantically searched to see if he might have fallen off the edge. But the bank was pristine, showing no disturbance whatsoever. She searched downstream anyway, to no avail.

Once more she backtracked and this time caught the faint track on the opposite bank where he had set his little bare foot down in the mud. "Sapel!!" she cried and quickly crossed the creek along the stepping stones. She found two more footprints, leading up the bank and rushed to follow them to the plains above.

There she halted, her heart beating with dread. There was no sign of him, only the miles of open grassland stretching out before her. Far away she could see the horse herds and knew that Spock had gone there to hunt today. But also to one side she could see a darker group of animals. Bison ... bad tempered, massive and extremely dangerous. They were rare in this area, but not unknown. And they were grazing in a pattern that would take them between herself and the horses.

Something ... telepathy, intuition, or just a good guess ... told Christine that Sapel had decided to join his father and was somewhere out there in that vast grassland, and it sent her fear into a full blown panic. " _Sapel!!!_ " she screamed and the cry shot through her mindbond to touch her husband two miles away.

 _???!!!!_ Spock's mind answered immediately.

She stopped and made herself concentrate. _Sapel! He's lost! Coming to you!_ she thought, hoping he would understand her.

 _I'm coming!_ she heard in her mind and knew that Spock had stopped his hunt and was hurrying back her way, searching mentally for his son's mind-signature.

Christine couldn't wait. She began to run as fast as she was able to meet him, all the time looking for a small dark head amid the waving golden grass.

* * *

Sapel stopped and looked uncertainly around. He had come a long, long way but still hadn't found Papa anywhere. And now, as he looked back the way he had come, he realized that he couldn't see home anymore either. He was hot and thirsty and itchy from the grass whipping against his naked skin. His foot hurt where he'd stepped on something and he was tired from coming such a long way.

"Papa!" he called as loudly as he could, but the only sound he heard back was the wind in the dried grass and the sound of insects.

He decided he wanted Mama and turned back to the way he thought was home. "Mama!" he yelled but she didn't answer either. He stuck one grubby finger in his mouth and sucked on it, trying to see something that looked familiar. Slowly he moved in the direction he'd originally been heading.

The grass thinned out a bit where it had been grazed down and he stopped again and looked around. There were a lot of animal droppings and he forgot about being afraid for a little while as he watched a group of black beetles rolling dung along in balls, finally depositing it down burrows in the dusty ground. When he tired of watching them, however, he remembered that he couldn't find Papa and that made the fear start to build again. He didn't like it here, he decided. It smelled bad and there were lots of flies, too. Every now and then, one would land on him and bite him. And his skin was starting to feel burny from the sun beating down on him. There wasn't any shade anywhere that he could get in.

He ran back into the grass to get away from the files but then got turned around and didn't know which way he'd come. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes as he called again in his high, piping voice, "Papa!! Mama!!"

Then, miraculously, he "heard" Papa answer, not with his ears but with his mind. _Sapel!_ said Papa's deep, strong voice. _Stay where you are! I'm looking for you!_

It had the opposite effect on the frightened child. Bursting into tears, he ran in the direction that he thought Papa was coming from. He couldn't know that in fact he was running farther and farther away from his frantically searching parents.

* * *

Christine slowed to a stop and clutched her abdomen, panting for breath. When she could breathe easier, she filled her lungs and shouted, "Sa-PELLLL!" The wind drowned her voice but brought with it the faint, rank smell of the grazing bison about a half mile away.

She shaded her eyes against the sun's glare and willed herself to see clearly. Meticulously, she scanned the prairie, intent on seeing anything out of the ordinary. The heat shimmer made it difficult. The air tended to waver with the rising thermals and what she _did_ see moving out there could be nothing more than birds, tall weeds, hunting canids ...

... or a small dark head bobbing above the grass.

Her heart leaped and she screamed again, "Sa-PELLLLL!!!" Again protectively clutching her abdomen, she began to run toward the small figure so far away.

* * *

Spock's keen hearing caught the distant sound of his wife's voice and quickly he turned his sharp gaze to the sea of waving yellow grass. He spotted her, moving at an awkward run toward a little pod of bison ... and a tiny dot that could only be Sapel.

Unaccountable dread surging through him suddenly, Spock gave a mental cry of his son's name and dashed toward the spot where he had last seen his son's head above the grasses. Sprinting at the top speed he was capable, something told him that he would not arrive in time.

* * *

Sapel again "heard" his father call his name and he stopped, looking around. Papa seemed so close, yet he couldn't see him. Uncertainly, he walked a little farther then suddenly his feet went out from under him and he found himself lying in a shallow depression that had been worn into the dusty ground — a bison wallow.

After a second, the shock wore off and he sat up, focusing on the new scrapes and cuts that his tumble had given him, now starting to bleed and sting. It was all too much. He screwed his face up into a mask of hurt and fear and self-pity, letting loose a wail as tears streaked his dirty cheeks. He wanted his Mama and Papa and he wanted to go home!

Then, somehow, he heard his mother's familiar voice. "Sa-PELLL! Where are you?!"

Hurriedly the little boy got to his feet and sobbed, "Mama! Mama!" He started climbing out of the wallow. As he reached the rim and stood up, something moved at the edge of his peripheral vision and he spun to his right, crying, "Mama!"

But the thing that confronted him was huge, black and shaggy and there was little doubt that massive bull bison objected strenuously to the presence of the small dirty boy standing before it.

* * *

Christine came to a halt as she saw the bison peering closely at her tiny, frightened child. Thankfully, he had frozen in his tracks and now she approached quietly and cautiously. The bison reminded her most of an African cape buffalo, bovine in appearance, thickly muscled, with a crown of solid horn curving from the top of its head, down past its ears, and back up in wicked hooks. A big bull — and this was a big one — could stand over six feet at the top of its humped shoulders. They usually traveled in small groups of a bull and several cows and calves.

Off to her left, she could see them, five cows, smaller and not so heavily muscled, and their half-grown young, all watching the events alertly.

The bull lowered his head and his nostrils flared as he drew in Sapel's scent, then snorted it back out again with the force of a bellows. With one forefoot, he pawed up a puff of dust in warning.

Christine moved a little closer. "Sapel?" she said softly. "I want you to start walking very slowly backwards. Don't run or make any sudden moves. Understand?"

"Yes, Mama," he sniffed and took a step back. The bull snorted again.

"That's good," Christine said. "Slowly. Slowly. Move away."

The boy complied and began to widen the distance between himself and the huge animal.

The bull swung its head around to look at Christine now, once more snorting and pawing the ground. There was a wild look in its small reddish eyes and it began to lift its tail in a sign of aggression. Christine began to back away, too, praying that she could reach Sapel and both of them get well away from the animal's territory.

The bull gave a low rumble in his throat and shook his horns in Christine's direction. Then he ejected a pungent stream of urine and rumbled menacingly again. Christine knew enough to understand that this was a threat display, the bull proclaiming how powerful and bad he was, urinating to spread his scent as a reinforcement of his strength. She agreed wholeheartedly and backed away a little faster, still not turning away from him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sapel and then her heart gave a leap of gladness. She could also see Spock, still a good distance away but moving toward them, his hunting spear at the ready.

"Sapel?" she said, just loud enough for the boy to hear. "Go to Papa, Sapel. Don't run, though. Just _walk_ to Papa."

The little boy turned and saw his father carefully approaching, his eyes flicking between the bull that now faced Christine and his son standing in the middle of it all. Sapel blinked back frightened tears and resisted his urge to dash into the safety of his father's arms, but he obeyed, keeping his pace at a walk.

The bull gave a low bellow and tossed its head, then lowered it back down to fully display its rack of horns, and pawed up the earth with both front feet, one after the other. Christine kept backing away, shaking so hard that she wondered how she kept to her feet.

Glancing to her side, she saw that Sapel had nearly reached Spock, who had stopped and was waiting for him, his steady gaze still on the drama playing out before him, his spear in both hands and at the ready.

Christine turned her head to look at her husband and at that moment she stepped in a rodent burrow, almost losing her balance. She did an instinctive wave of both arms to right herself and regain her feet — and jerked back as the bull bellowed at the top of his lungs and lunged straight at her.

"Sapel, run!!" Spock roared and dashed to his wife's aid.

He wasn't fast enough. Her frightened scream was cut short by the sickening thud of the bison's lowered head impacting her body full-on. It knocked her several feet away, where she landed flat on her back in the yellowed grass. The bull didn't stop there. By the time Spock was within striking distance with his spear, the animal was over Christine's prone body, worrying her with his horns and trampling her with his big, three-toed feet.

Spock yelled at the top of his voice and plunged his spear into the bull's flank, shoving it in as far as he could, hoping to hit a vital organ.

The bull bawled in rage and turned on its new attacker, attempting to hook a horn tip into Spock's mid-section and rip him open. Spock hung onto the spear shaft, realizing that if he let go, he would lose all advantage. The bull twisted furiously, turning in a tight circle in his effort to reach his tormenter. Froth flew from his mouth as he bellowed and spun in fury, spraying blood in profusion on the man.

With a definitive snap, the spear shaft abruptly broke under Spock's weight and the stresses of the battle, flinging the Vulcan ungracefully into a heap. For the moment he needed to scramble away, the bull continuing to focus on the spear point in its side. Spock gulped in air and unslung his bow, quickly nocking an arrow into it.

Christine chose that unfortunate time to groan and sit up, holding her head. The bull spotted her once more and, driven insane by pain and rage, he charged again, this time hooking her body with his horns and tossing her into the air with his massive strength.

She landed hard and he attacked once more, before she could react at all.

Spock frantically took aim and sent an arrow thudding into the bull's side. With a speed born of terror, he already had another drawn as the bison whipped in his direction. This arrow imbedded itself in the creature's thick neck. A third lodged in the throat, sending a gush of blood from the wound.

As the Vulcan nocked and drew the fourth arrow, the bull staggered, blood loss finally beginning to take effect. Spock hesitated for a moment then, when the bison still stood, panting with its tongue hanging from its mouth, dripping blood and saliva, he sent one more shot, aiming this time for the heart. His aim was true and the massive bull went down with a final bellow of outrage.

Spock paused to make sure he wouldn't get up again, then first looked around for his son. The little boy was crouched, terrified, not far away and, as Spock beckoned to him, he stood up and ran into his father's arms, sobbing hysterically.

Spock hugged him close and then hurried to where Christine lay, crumpled near the body of the bull. His heart battered against his ribs, afraid that she was dead. But then, as he set Sapel on his feet and bent over her, she groaned weakly and moved her head.

Quickly he ran his hands over her arms and legs, trying to determine if any bones were broken. As he went over her left arm, she jerked and cried out. Underneath the skin, he could feel the fracture and noted it. There were broken ribs, too, where the bull had hit her and numerous gashes and bruises. But what frightened him the most was the trickle of blood running down the inside of her thighs, indicating internal injuries.

He looked around frantically for something he could use as a stretcher or travois, but the grassland afforded nothing. As he was rapidly running the problem over in his head, Christine groaned again and her face contorted in pain.

"Spock..." she said weakly and he was instantly bent over her again. "Get me home, Spock..." she murmured. "Don't let me die here..." Then her head fell back as she lost consciousness.

He made an instant decision and knelt down beside her. "Sapel," he said in a hoarse voice. "I want you to climb on my back and put your arms around my neck. I'm going to have to carry you and Mama home and I need for you to hang onto me and not fall off. Can you do that?"

The child sniffled and nodded. He'd ridden piggy-back before and Spock gave him a little boost up until he was clinging as hard as he could on his father's back, his little arms tight around Spock's neck. Once Sapel was secure, Spock slid his arms underneath his wife's body and gently lifted her, cradling her against him as tenderly as he could.

A human might not have been able to carry the burden that Spock was forced to bear, but he steeled himself and stood up smoothly, adjusting Christine's limp body in his arms and making sure that Sapel had a good grip. Then he set off for their valley cave, praying to any of the gods that would listen that he would get her home in time.

* * *

Christine was bleeding heavily by the time Spock knelt and laid her on the soft leather covering of their bed. Sapel slipped off his father's back and stood looking down at his mother, one finger in his mouth and sniffling with the tears he couldn't seem to quite stop.

For a few seconds, Spock thought over what he needed to do next and realized that he was going to have to spend a vast amount of time and energy healing Christine. He needed to quickly see to his son's injuries first. Turning to Sapel, he put his hands on the little boy's dirty, naked body and visually inspected him for anything major. There were only some scrapes and bruises, nothing that wouldn't heal on its own.

Spock got up and retrieved a bowl of water and some chamois and hurriedly washed the majority of the grime and blood off his son. He made sure that the scrapes were clean, holding Sapel still when he tried to jerk away. "Hurts, Papa!" the child insisted.

"I know it hurts, _cha'i_ ," Spock said quietly. "But it is necessary so that they do not get infected. Now, listen to me, Sapel. Pay attention." The boy turned his wide brown eyes on his father's. Spock peered into them and continued, "Mama is hurt very badly. Very badly. I must try to help her so that she will get well. I may not be able to give you much attention for a few days. Do you understand?" The boy nodded. "There will be times when I will be touching Mama's face and neither one of us will move for a long time. What I will be doing is helping Mama to heal from within. It is a Vulcan thing and someday I will teach it to you. But right now Mama needs all the help we can give her."

"I help Mama?" Sapel asked tentatively.

"Yes, you can help Mama, too," Spock answered. "You can think very hard about Mama and think about her getting well. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Papa."

"All right. You are clean now. There is some bread there by the hearth. Go and sit there and have some supper. I must tend to Mama now." Spock ruffled the little boy's unruly dark hair and sent him into the "kitchen" portion of their cave. Then he turned back to the grim task before him.

Tossing out the dirty water from Sapel's clean-up, Spock refilled it with clean water from their water bag and went back to kneel at Christine's side. The first order of business was to get her bloody, dirty clothes off. She was dressed only in a loin cloth and halter top and moccasins, her usual attire in hot weather. He had her stripped in short order, noting with dismay that the loin cloth was soaked through with blood, much more even than she lost when she menstruated. There was still more seeping from her vagina.

The right side of her body evinced massive trauma, already turning an angry purple with contusions. He needed to get her arm splinted and find something to wrap around her body to stabilize her ribs. Then he would attempt to assess if the child within her still lived or whether, as he feared, he was seeing the beginning of a miscarriage. Frantically, he tried to remember what he must do. His medical training was limited to basic first aid and field experience. But he'd never had to deal with a uterine hemorrhage before and realized with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that Christine could very easily bleed to death.

With determination he set to work, quickly but efficiently setting and splinting her broken arm then he took a newly tanned horse hide from their store, soft and sturdy, and punched holes on either end of it and found a length of rawhide lacing to tie it with. Getting it on her involved lifting her slightly in order to slide the hide underneath her back and the pain of it woke her with a cry.

She clutched at him with her good hand, her nails digging into his skin, and moaned loudly as he gently laid her back down again.

"I am sorry, Christine," he said softly, but working to thread the lacing through the holes. "I have to get your ribs wrapped. I will be as gentle as I can."

"I know, Spock," she answered through clenched teeth, tears of pain leaking from the corners of her eyes. "Lace it snugly but not too tight. Can't risk pneumonia — Oh! Oh, Jesus, God and Mary!" She trailed off with a hiss.

He began to tighten the corset around her as she whimpered and fought to stand it. The procedure seemed interminable but at last he was done. She was breathing shallowly and sweat was dripping off her face. He let her rest for a few minutes and checked her other injuries. Blood was beginning to pool underneath her hips. There appeared to be clots in it.

Worried even more, he turned back to her and stroked her face. "Christine ... _t'hy'la_..." he urged and she opened her eyes to look at him. "You are bleeding from your vagina. Do you feel pain within? What should I do?"

She closed her eyes and focused on her various aches and pains. The bone-setting had been so agonizing that it had masked her other injuries, but now she could feel the twisting inside her lower torso, as if her body was trying to tie itself into a knot. The medical professional in her assessed the symptoms and fresh tears surged down her face. She sobbed and that set a fresh spear of pain through her ribs. She forced herself to damp down her grief.

"It's gone," she whispered, almost to herself. "Dear God..." She swallowed hard and looked back up at her husband bending over her, distress plain on his face. "In my medicine stores," she said weakly. "Get some of the brown, furry-looking herb. Make me a tea with it. Strong. It will help stop the bleeding."

"The baby?" he asked in a choked voice, confirming what he already knew.

"Yes..." she whispered and closed her eyes again. "There will be a lot of tissue with the blood. The placenta may look like ... like strips of raw liver. There is a bare chance that the fetus ... will ... will be ... alive ... briefly..." Her face crumpled in grief and agony and she covered her eyes with her right hand and sobbed again brokenly, despite the pain it caused her.

Feeling as if his heart had been ripped from his body, Spock rose to prepare the medicinal tea. Sapel crouched near to the fire, a piece of bread in his hand, but himself too distressed to do more than nibble distractedly at it. Spock passed him without acknowledging his presence, too sunk in his own grief to do more than focus on his duties.

The little boy watched him go to the area where Christine kept her stock of herbs and medicinal plants and then Sapel looked back at his mother lying nearly naked on her bed, in obvious pain. He put the bread down and went to her.

"Mama..." he said and lay down at her side, snuggling under her good arm, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Christine sobbed and hugged him close, her love and relief that he was safe for a little while overshadowing the ordeal that was beginning.

* * *

It was all over not long before dawn. Christine lay sleeping in total exhaustion, aided by the diluted juice of a plant sap that dulled pain and induced slumber. Spock had wrapped the bloody evidence of her miscarriage in a length of leather and set it aside for later burial. He had changed the bedding underneath her, packed a good portion of sphagnum moss and soft lint between her legs and secured it with a strap, as she used during her menstrual period, and then dosed her once more per her instructions with the herb tea and opiate. Then he had lain down beside her and held her until she had cried herself to sleep.

Sapel had long since been moved to his own bed, asleep.

Spock had not slept at all, of course, and would not now for some time. His hardest task was at hand. When he was sure that his wife was deep asleep and breathing easily, he rose and gathered together his digging implements and then the forlorn little bundle, and stepped out into the pale light of the new dawn. The morning was cool and fresh, bringing with it the promise of another hot clear autumn day. On the eastern horizon, the sun had not yet broken the rim but already the sky was painted in a wash of light pinks and yellows as daybreak neared.

To Spock the dawn was as bleak and mocking as he'd ever seen it. Numbly, he turned away and walked far down the trail beside the creek, a good ways from their campsite, until he reached a place where the creek turned in a little bend to the south and willow-like trees grew, shading the ground beneath in a soft pattern of light and shadow. The earth here was not hard and Spock carefully laid the bundle aside and began to dig.

It took him a long time to excavate deep enough to satisfy him, working with only an antler pick and shoulder-blade shovel, but at last he had dug down about a meter, deep enough that he judged the bundle would not be disturbed.

For a few seconds, he clutched the bundle against him, then he carefully placed it in the oblong hole he had dug, positioning it just right, then he began to backfill with the dirt he had removed. That part didn't seem to take long at all and soon he was smoothing and tamping down the fresh earth into a little mound. Then, before rising from his knees, he hung his head and commended to the Ancestors the dead child he had buried beneath the willows.

Once done, Spock wearily rose to his feet, picked up his tools, and made his way back to Christine's side. She still slept, as did Sapel on his little bed near the back of the cave. Spock sank down to sit beside his wife, his back against the cave wall, and drew his knees up, folding his arms across them. Exhaustion and grief settled on him like a blanket and he bent forward until his forehead rested against his arms in complete surrender.

He had never known such emotional pain, could not imagine how he could survive it. But he knew that he must, for Christine and Sapel if not for himself. He had not known fully what to expect when Christine had gripped his hand and finally delivered the bloody mass of tissue onto the spread leather, but could readily identify the tiny form amidst the gory remains. It was unbelievably small, only a couple of inches in length, but nearly fully developed into a recognizable shape, with arms and legs and a large head. He didn't examine it closely after determining that it did not live. He thanked the gods for that.

Christine had raised her head a bit. "Is it out?" she asked in a strained voice. "Can you tell what it is?"

He had swallowed his pain as he wrapped the bundle and answered in a voice that barely worked. "It would have been a boy."

"Is it ..." Her voice cracked.

"Dead," he assured her flatly, then turned to finish his ministrations to her. She had cried weakly all during his cleaning and dosing her, not hard or hysterically because she no longer had the strength for it. He had wanted to soothe her with a mind meld, but found that he could not drop the shields of his own grief in order to do so. He still had much to do and could not afford the luxury of releasing the control he was tightly maintaining.

Now, in the dawn quiet, bent beside the still body of his wife, Spock felt the barriers beginning to crack. Tears welled up and began to run down his face as he clenched his teeth tightly to avoid making any noise that would wake Christine. His son...

He'd lost his son. Without ever knowing him, without holding his newborn warmth or watching him grow and learn, without seeing him toddle after and then run with his older brother, without watching him mature to manhood... His son was gone before he'd ever been.

The sobs came harder and Spock buried his face in both hands, trying and failing to gain command of them. The outpouring of pain and despair was coming too strongly and he abruptly vaulted to his feet and strode from the cave.

Walking rapidly, and then breaking into a run, he bolted up the trail to the bluff top and there, finally, well away from the hearing of his wife and his other child, Spock stood and gave full vent to his emotions, shrieking into the wind that buffeted the hilltop and took his howl of grief away with it. Spock screamed until his voice muted into an agonized wail and he dropped to his knees in the grass, then finally down onto his hands as well, simply sobbing until he had no more tears left.

For a long time he knelt there, head down, the wind drying his face and lashing his hair against his cheeks and eyes. The pain was still there but the edge of it had dulled now and he was finally able to pull the tattered rags of his control back together around him.

Rising numbly to his feet, he took another moment to calm himself and make sure there would be no more such emotional outbursts. Then he took a deep breath and went back down into the valley. Sapel would be waking soon, if he was not already up, and he would be wanting his breakfast. Spock would have to take care of them all for a while now and his other son needed him.

* * *

It took a long time for Christine to heal, physically at any rate, and the autumn days stretched into early winter. For about two weeks following her miscarriage, she was so weakened from blood loss and pain that it was an effort for her to leave her bed for even the most necessary chores. Tenderly Spock saw to her every need — feeding her, washing her, helping her to the latrine and back. When she hurt too much to stand it any longer, he eased her pain with a mind meld until she could sleep or rest once more. For the first two days, he took control of her mind and body, taking her down into the depths of her subconscious, pressing a healing trance onto her psyche, willing her broken bones to knit, her torn uterus to mend, her bruised and abraded body to repair itself.

He did not keep her there continually. Her Human mind was not strong enough to survive the depth of the advanced Vulcan mental discipline. Instead he worked with her until he felt the strain, then he brought her up into a natural sleep and pulled out of her mind to allow her to rest. The effort always exhausted him, but he would not allow himself to feel fatigue. Sapel was always waiting, watching with wide brown eyes, not understanding except that Papa was making Mama well.

Inevitably, when he looked at his little son, Spock struggled to maintain his emotional control. The knowledge that he had lost one child and had very nearly lost the other frightened him more than he could have imagined. If there was a thread of resentment toward Sapel — that his actions had caused this — Spock kept it deeply buried. Sapel's wandering away had been done in complete innocence; one did not blame a small child for inexperience and naiveté. The Vulcan way was to correct, not to punish. Children were guided with firmness and consistency until they responded correctly. It would never occur to Spock to blame the two-year-old and call it his fault.

Nevertheless, Sapel was severely traumatized by the entire incident. He knew that he had been lost and that his Mama had been hurt saving him from the big animal that wanted to hurt _him_. He had witnessed the fierce battle between his Papa and the animal, had seen the animal's blood spurt and flow, and had felt the anguish and fear his father had projected as he bent over Mama's crumpled body. Sapel had also seen how his Mama had suffered as Papa took care of her, cleaning and bandaging her hurts, then had lain awake in his little bed long into the night, listening to her moans and sobs of pain as something terrible had happened to her. He was too frightened to move, but he felt all too well the sorrow and agony both his parents projected.

Now Mama was so sick, unable to move, and Papa spent so much time with her, his fingers pressed into her face, his eyes closed, his forehead knotted in concentration. He had told Sapel that he would do this, but the knowing did not alleviate the fear that permeated the little boy's soul. He didn't like what was happening! He wanted Mama to get up and laugh and play with him again. He wanted Papa to carry him on his back again and talk to him in his head and feel good and strong.

He stared at Papa now, wondering when his father had begun to look so different. Sapel had no reference point to define "old," but something told him that the lines on Papa's face were deeper, the skin underneath his eyes darker with fatigue, the sparkle of humor that lurked in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth was gone.

But now the ghost of a smile softened Papa's face as he gazed at Sapel and the boy felt his father's welcome settle over him. Relieved, he ran and put his arms around his Papa's neck, snuggling his face into the man's neck as he felt strong, warm arms come around him and hold him securely.

Spock closed his eyes tiredly and settled back against the wall, cross-legged, nestling the soft body of his little son against him. He sensed that Sapel wasn't hungry; he just needed to be held and reassured. They sat there for some time until Spock realized that Sapel had gone to sleep and was drooling on his shoulder.

Gently he started to get to his feet then stopped as he felt Christine's hand touch his foot. "Don't put him in his bed," she whispered. "I want him with me."

Spock understood and softly laid the toddler down beside his mother, next to her uninjured side. She stroked the tousled dark hair, smoothing it behind the petite pointed ear, and smiled as the child burrowed in nearer her body.

Spock stretched out on his side beside her, Sapel between them, and propped his head on his elbow, then took her hand in his own. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed her fingers and then returned her hand to rest on their sleeping child. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, gazing deep into her eyes.

"A little stronger, I think," she answered. "You look tired, sweetheart. You should take a nap, too, and get some rest."

"And you should stop worrying about me," he responded with a half-smile.

"Face it," she smiled back. "We're both dyed-in-the-wool worriers." She sobered a little and looked back down at Sapel, lightly caressing his back. "I was just lying here thinking. We need to do some planning."

"Planning for what?" Spock asked, curious.

"The rest of the year. We need to think about the winter. I'm not up to going south. Not walking and carrying a load. We'd better think about wintering here."

"All right," Spock agreed without conviction. "In that case, I will do a thorough inventory of our food stocks and other necessities and will begin to prepare accordingly."

"I'll be able to help soon," she assured him. "It will do me good to get a little gentle exercise."

"I do not want you over-exerting yourself!" he answered firmly.

"I won't. But I can begin doing simple things. And we don't have much time before real cold sets in." Christine's features settled into her "take charge" expression as she began to mentally count up tasks to be done. "I want you to check our supply of salt. And be on the lookout for another log that we can convert into a brine barrel. There are lots of fish in the pond. Sapel is old enough to fish with me. That won't take much energy but it's something I can do."

Spock's eyebrows began creeping upward as his wife slipped into high gear and continued, "Oh, I know you don't like salted fish, but perhaps I can think of some way to prepare it that will be better. And it's time to start looking for ripe fruits to harvest. And grain. There's lots of grass grain this year. You'll have to help me harvest rather than hunting so much, but we'll get it done." She paused and he could almost see the wheels in her mind whirling. "And firewood... We'll need to start collecting all the firewood we can find and storing it. We can go upstream to the woods. We can take a hide and make a sled out of it and you can pull it—"

Spock leaned across Sapel and silenced his wife with a fervent kiss. When he lifted his lips from hers, he gazed into her somewhat startled blue eyes and murmured, "You are indomitable!"

"Nonsense," she answered back, but blushed and smiled with pleasure. "We're down but we're not out. This isn't the end of things, Spock. It's only the beginning!

 

END OF PART TWO

PART THREE – "SEA HOME" – FOLLOWS

 


	3. Year Three -- Sea Home

**Present Day**

As Spock led his family out of the cool confines of the pine forest and looked down onto the coastal plain, he could already smell the sea. The crisp tang of salt air combined with the sharp fresh scent of the pines, stirred by the breeze that caused a gentle susurration among the tall trees. It picked up strength on the sandy plain, bending the long stems of the salt grass before it. Their trail led them along the edge of the forest, following a shallow headland that skirted the beach area with its dunes and tidal marshes.

Sapel, walking beside Mezzie, the horse-like creature that pulled their travois, laughed as the wind snatched at his long black hair and pulled it from the thong that held it back, lashing him in the face with its strands. "We're here!" he declared.

"Not yet," Spock admonished him. "Not for a mile or so."

"Close enough!" responded his ten-year-old son joyfully.

"What's it like, Spel?" asked T'Jenn from her perch astride the _mesohippus_. She had ridden frequently on this journey, the gentle creature accepting the small girl after a few token protests. She didn't weigh very much and was an easy burden for the animal to bear.

Her brother dropped back a bit to walk beside her. "Ah, you remember, Jen," he answered. "You were here last year."

The four-year-old thought hard. "Dead fish," she finally replied, wrinkling her nose.

On the other side of the travois, her mother shook her head and commented, "We live here for four months and all she remembers is dead fish on the beach!"

"I didn't like it, Mama!" the little girl protested in her own defense.

Christine just shook her head again. As the travois bumped across a little ridge in the sandy soil, the baby napping on the belongings, strapped to her papoose board, woke with a start and almost immediately began to cry fitfully. Christine smoothly and efficiently scooped her up and slipped her into the carry-sling across her front.

"What's the matter, baby boo?" she murmured to her youngest child. "Did you get woke up before you were ready?"

The child blinked up at her with almond-shaped, nearly black eyes, her tiny features the epitome of Vulcan infancy. It was a deceptive appearance because all the children were predominantly Human and carried only a quarter of Vulcan heritage within them. Nevertheless, Sapel and T'Kai had strongly inherited their father's features. T'Jenn looked more like her mother and more Human, her long hair a deep burnished sable, and her eyes the same sapphire blue as Christine's. Her ears had a suggestion of a pointed tip, but it was not overt, and her eyebrows followed a more Human curve than Vulcan slant.

Little T'Kai neither knew nor cared about any of this. All she recognized at the moment was that she was hungry and her mother's warm breast was pressed against her cheek. The baby turned her head and nuzzled into the soft flesh and Christine obliged her by opening her tunic enough to bare her nipple. The baby closed her eyes and settled down to nursing contentedly. Christine had never stopped walking during all of it.

Spock had not stopped either, although he slowed his pace just a bit in order to allow him to drop back next to his wife. He loved watching her breastfeed their children and never tired of the seeming miracle of it. Christine was never so beautiful to him than when she was suffused by the radiance of motherhood.

"Tired?" he asked softly.

Christine glanced up at him and smiled, then looked back down at their baby daughter suckling contentedly at her breast. "A little. I'll be happy when we get there."

"As will I. Once settled in, we can relax a bit."

Christine sighed and squinted into the distance, trying to see the line of blue-green that marked the ocean. She could hear the surf now, too. "It seems longer each year, doesn't it, Spock?" she asked quietly. "I suppose we're not as young as we used to be." He didn't answer and she glanced up at him with a sardonic expression. "That was your cue to say, 'Oh, no, you are as young and beautiful as the day I first met you.'"

His eyebrows lifted in feigned surprise. "But you are not as young as you were when I first met you," he responded innocently. "It would be illogical to state that you are." She gave him a mock glare and his expression softened as he murmured, "However, I can state with perfect honesty that I find you even more beautiful than that day of our meeting on board the _Enterprise_. And you grow even more so each day we are together."

"Flatterer," she smiled back but he could tell she was genuinely pleased. "And I could say the same about you. If I'd known how devastatingly handsome you would become, I might have done something entirely inappropriate that day and shocked you beyond all recovery." She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively and he caught the image through their mind-bond.

"I'm afraid I would have had to put you on report, Miss Chapel," he answered with a calm demeanor. "I am quite sure that attacking the First Officer in such a manner is a court martial offense."

"It would have been worth it, Mr. Spock," she replied.

Sapel and T'Jenn were looking back over their shoulders at their parents with puzzled, disbelieving expressions on their faces. "What are you two talking about?" the boy demanded.

Christine laughed while Spock merely returned his son's stare in a slightly challenging manner. "I do not recall addressing this conversation to you," Spock responded lightly but pointedly. "This is between your mother and myself."

The boy shook his head and turned back the way he was walking. "Adults are so weird sometimes!" he commented to his little sister.

Christine laughed again and they walked for a while in silence. Spock's thoughts, however, flicked back to that other life, one he seldom contemplated anymore. He recalled their meeting vividly. He had met Christine the day she had come aboard as the new head nurse in sickbay. He had gone down to return something to McCoy and she had crashed bodily into him as he turned to leave. For a long second, they stood pressed hard against one another, staring into each other's eyes before she stepped away and apologized profusely. They had parted a moment later, but those amazing blue eyes had stayed with him, not to mention the surge of emotion that had shot through him from their brief contact. _Her_ emotion, not his. The collision had startled him enough to cause him to drop his mental shields for a split second and in that bare instant, he had felt an immediate blast of sexual attraction toward him, the instantaneous flash of visceral emotion that said _beautiful/male/want_. It had only lasted for the nanosecond it had taken for a nerve impulse to jump from one synapse to another, but it had transmitted itself perfectly into his mind through their contact. It had taken his breath away.

He had gotten out of sick bay as quickly as he could without breaking his imperturbable Vulcan demeanor. But every time he saw her thereafter, that spark of sexual longing reasserted itself full force and made him extremely uncomfortable being around her. What made it worse was the primitive little voice deep down within him that responded to her femininity and warmth.

He thought he had finally managed to suppress it until the awful time of his first _pon farr_. She had come to his cabin unbidden and he had awakened to find her leaning close over his sleeping form ... close enough that he could smell the warm scent of her skin and feel her breath stirring his hair ... close enough that he could have reached up and pulled her down into his arms, into his bed, into the fire of sexual hunger consuming him... Even now, he had to steel himself when he thought about it. The spark of her longing and the tinder of his need had very nearly ignited then and there into a conflagration that neither of them could have withstood.

Spock glanced now at the woman walking beside him and felt himself stir with arousal. She still ignited that need in him and their bonding had reinforced it. Quickly, though, he damped it down; it was not the time or the place and both of them were tired from their journey. But soon... soon he would lie with her in the warmth of their furs and he would draw her against him and once more feel the heat of her passion and her love. He promised himself — and _her_ — that.

Meanwhile, they were nearing their destination. The trail they were following turned back into the edge of the pine forest to a sheltered rock overhang. Hunkered down beneath it, blending into the forest like a natural formation, was a low, spreading log and rock cabin. It was small and primitively constructed, dug partially back into the hillside itself, but Spock was inordinately proud of it. He had built it their first winter here and it had stood sturdily for the past eight years. The weather here on the coast did not get particularly cold, but the storms coming off the ocean could be fierce and last for days. The cabin had proved to be a snug haven.

They called it Sea Home and Spock's thoughts drifted back to the first time they had come here, so many years before...

**Year Three**

Christine stood from her bent position and straightened the kinks out of her back. She and Sapel were working in their little garden plot, picking the last of the legumes from the withering vines and tossing them into the gathering basket that sat on the ground between them. The garden was an experiment that she had launched in the spring, planting a few vegetables on a sandbar in a bend of the creek bed and seeing if they produced anything.

It had been a marginal success. The seeds, while picked in the wild, had nevertheless sprouted and produced a small crop of various things. Besides the legume pods, they also had managed to grow a couple of types of root vegetables, a large-grained plant that looked a little like corn, and a tall bushy plant that sprouted hairy, prickly fruit directly off its stem. The fruit was difficult to pick but was delicious when boiled in salty water and split open.

She wiped the sweat from her face and took off her woven straw hat to fan herself with. She had adapted her basket-weaving skills to produce the nearly flat, wide brim head covering and it provided welcome shade from the summer sun. Sapel wore a smaller but otherwise identical version while he worked with his mother.

"We 'bout done, Mama?" he asked tiredly.

"Nearly, babe," she answered. "Just a little bit more and then we can rest. We'll get these good peas shelled and I'll get them cooking for supper. How about that?"

"We have mashed taters with 'em?" the boy asked.

"If we have any left. I think there are enough to make a meal on," she smiled. The vegetables weren't potatoes, of course, but a white, starchy root that could be cooked soft and mashed into a pulp. Sprinkled with coarse salt, they looked and tasted remarkably like the Terran food and Christine had dubbed them with the same name. "And maybe Papa will bring home something good to eat, too."

"Hope so," Sapel answered.

"I have," responded a deep voice from behind them and the two whirled to find Spock walking toward them.

"Spock! Stop sneaking up on us like that!" Christine admonished him. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"My apologies. I suppose I have become so accustomed to moving quietly that I no longer think about it." He stopped in front of her and bent to kiss her softly. Sapel leaped toward him and hugged one long, leather-clad thigh.

"Papa! Whatcha get?!" he demanded.

Spock disengaged his young son from his leg and retrieved his game bag from across his back. Opening it, he pulled out a large brown and white water bird, its head lolled at an unnatural angle, its neck broken. "I managed to bag three of them," he said. "The migrations have begun. There should be lots more coming through in the next weeks."

"They're coming through early this year," Christine commented. "It must be turning cold early up north."

"I believe so. The herds are moving, too."

She nodded, already thinking ahead. "Well, if you're not too tired, how about giving Sapel and me a hand here and we should be done in a few minutes. Then I'll get these birds dressed and the peas cooking and you boys can go have a swim."

"Yippee!!" Sapel exclaimed and bent back to work with a will.

Spock was agreeable to helping pick and the three of them finished stripping the legume vines within about ten minutes.

Once done, the family strolled back up to their home cave and deposited the garden foods and the water fowl at the door. Spock put away his hunting weapons then he and Sapel went down the path to the pond.

Christine hung the birds up by their webbed feet and cut their throats, allowing the blood to drain out into a catch bucket underneath. It would take a while to do that, so she took the legumes and another smaller basket and followed her men down to the water's edge. She was menstruating and wouldn't go in swimming, but it was cool by the pond and she enjoyed watching Spock and Sapel splash about. Seating herself in the shade, she began shelling the peas and preparing them to cook.

Her husband and her son had already stripped off and were down near the waterfall. Sapel, now two and a half by Terra Two's years, but over three in actual development, was totally at home in the water. He was forbidden to go in without an adult accompanying him, but he had been swimming almost from the time he could walk. Spock was not quite as comfortable. He had not learned to swim until his late teens, when he'd been required to do so at the Academy, but he nevertheless enjoyed the sensation of cool water gliding over his naked skin.

Today, however, Spock was only interested in washing off the dirt and blood acquired from his hunting trip and, while his little son played happily, he treaded water underneath the sparse stream falling over the edge of the escarpment and allowed the natural shower to splash onto his head and shoulders. Dipping lower, his long hair spread out around him on the water, shining raven-wing black in the sun.

Scooping up a double handful of water, he scrubbed his face clean, shaking the water droplets away that clung to his lashes and brows. Sapel swam up behind him and tried to climb onto his father's shoulders, nearly dunking him in the process.

The boy laughed with delight and tried to push Spock under again, but was promptly pulled around to his father's chest and held there while Spock washed the boy's grubby face. Sapel squealed and protested, got away from Spock's grasp and splashed away.

Spock made sure that he was all right then he struck out toward the shore where his wife sat watching.

Christine had paused in her work to chuckle over the horseplay, then was caught by the sight of her husband's lean, powerful body cutting through the water. When he reached the shallows and stood up to come out of the pond, she found herself nearly breathless at the sight of him — naked, his skin the deep patina of old bronze, his blue-black hair hanging thick and heavy over his shoulders and back, streaming with water that flowed down over the lines of his muscles and through the dark hair on his chest and stomach, down to the thatch at the base of his abdomen, and beyond.

He felt as well as saw the hunger that flashed through her eyes and his penis give a twitch in answer. Then he exerted control over the automatic reaction and bent to retrieve his loincloth, stepping back into it and tying the waistband into place. Once dressed, he sank down cross-legged beside her on the grass and began squeezing water out of his hair, working the tangles out of it with his fingers.

She continued to gaze at him with open interest and he looked over at her, meeting her eyes. "I hunger for thee as well, my wife," he said in a low voice. "But we can wait a few more days. The wait will make it even sweeter when we may join again."

She sighed. "We _could_ , you know," she answered with a hint of hopeful suggestion in her voice.

"Yes, but neither you nor I find it pleasing during your time. A few more days and we will be together once more."

She smiled again and nodded. "I know. But sometimes it's so hard to wait those days."

He reached out to squeeze her hand and then returned to the chore of detangling his long hair. Christine watched him for a moment then commented, "I could cut that if you wanted me to."

"Illogical as it may seem, I rather enjoy it long," Spock answered. "I do not know why. It serves no purpose and is obviously difficult to maintain."

"Maybe because it makes you feel free," she responded softly, glancing up at him even has her fingers were busy separating the legume seeds from their pods.

"I _am_ free, Christine," he replied in a slightly puzzled tone. "We all are."

"...for the first time in our lives," she added. "You and I have both been prisoners of our lives, Spock. You more than anyone else I've ever known. A prisoner of Vulcan, a prisoner of Starfleet, a prisoner of your own self-imposed rules and regulations. But here ... we've stripped away all those prison bars. This is as basic as it gets. And, truthfully, Spock ... I think I'm the happiest woman in the galaxy right now."

"The happiest on this planet certainly," he answered, his eyes crinkled with the humor she knew so well.

She chuckled and looked back to her shelling. "No arguing there. Well, I think that's all I'm going to get out of these. I'm going back up to the cave and get these peas cooking and dress out one of those ducks for supper." She got to her feet and picked up her baskets. "Don't let Sapel stay in too long."

"I won't."

She climbed back up the dirt path to their home and Spock sat quietly, contemplating what she had said as he drew up one knee and folded his arms across it, watching as Sapel dove under the water and then came up spluttering a few seconds later.

She had made a very profound statement, he mused. Five years ago, he would never have imagined the life he was living now. He thought back to the man he had been -- the rigid, correct, completely controlled Starfleet officer, going through the motions day by day, living his life by regulations and traditions, closed off from the beings around him. Christine was on the fringe of his circle of acquaintances then. He saw her in the scope of his job as First Officer, but she was not under his direct command in the Science Division. She worked for McCoy in the Medical Division and thus it was only when the two departments were involved in a joint project that he saw her in any regular capacity. Even then, his other duties did not allow him to participate in the hands-on business of research in the labs.

Despite their rocky beginning, he had grown to respect her as a scientist in her own right and had attempted to put behind him the embarrassing and painful episode of the Psi 2000 virus. So, it seemed, had she, although he continued to pick up the subtle signals she sent his way — voluntarily or involuntarily, he could not tell — whenever they were together.

But her presence had troubled him, particularly following his first _pon farr_ and his divorce from T'Pring. He had felt a definite attraction toward Christine when his emotional barriers were at their most vulnerable, but afterwards the bounds of Vulcan tradition had surrounded him once more. He had never told her that he had made plans to contact a _vi'hal'iduh_ — a marriage broker — to locate and contract with another Vulcan woman in a more suitable arrangement. He'd had no say in the matter when his parents had contracted with T'Pring's but he was determined that this time he would choose his own mate. It never crossed his mind to consider Christine in such a role. This was a purely Vulcan matter and the logical choice was one of his own kind.

He did not consider at the time, of course, that Christine was as much "his own kind" as a Vulcan. The circumstances that had thrown them together, though, had proved to him that his Human half would not be thrust aside as inconsequential. As the days had become weeks and then months here in their forced exile, he had grown to like Christine as a person and then to love her. As both of them sloughed away the trappings of their former lives, they had discovered in one another a soulmate, a friend and working companion, and finally a passionate and considerate lover. They fit together like matching bookends.

Spock could not now imagine life without her or the little son created by their love. He was truly free here, to be what he wanted and to raise his family as he desired, without the weight of a thousand years' tradition forcing them into a mold of others' desires. That was why he let his hair grow long, he decided. As a symbol of finally becoming the person he wanted to be and in defiance of the world that kept him from doing so.

With a flash of revelation, Spock suddenly understood what had led his half-brother, Sybok, to reject his homeworld and flee for parts unknown. He felt a sudden kinship with his missing sibling and couldn't suppress a wry smile at the thought that perhaps this spark of rebellion was genetic ... and that both of them got it from Sarek, who had himself showed the same independent streak in marrying a Human woman over his family's objections.

Spock chuckled quietly at the irony of it, of his straight-laced and tradition-bound father causing both his sons to abandon tradition and live very un-Vulcan lives. Sarek would undoubtedly have been completely scandalized by such a thought.

Sapel saw his father's smile and splashed up closer to the shore. "Whatcha laughin' at, Papa?"

"Nothing, Sapel. Come out of the water now. It's time to dry off."

"No! Wanna play!"

"You have played long enough. It's time to get out now."

"Nooo!" the boy whined piteously. "Just a little longer."

"Sapel, do not force me to come in and retrieve you," Spock warned. "I assure you that you will not enjoy the experience."

Sapel waited for as long as he thought he could do so, then made a disgusted noise and waded out, coming to stand before his father, dripping water. Spock retrieved the soft absorbent length of chamois they used as a towel and began to scrub it over the little boy's body, drying him.

Sapel bore it stoically and then said, "Look, Papa, my pee pee's sticking out. It did that when I was swimmin'."

"Yes, Sapel. That is quite normal." Spock toweled his son's dark unruly hair, pondering how they were ever going to get the knots and tangles out of it.

"Does your pee pee stick out?"

"It is called a penis, Sapel, and, yes, it does sometimes."

"Why?"

"Because of blood being pumped into it. Hold still."

"Mama doesn't have one."

"No. Women are built differently from men."

"We're men, right?"

"Yes. I am a man and you are a boy. You will be a man when you are older."

"How old?"

"When you are approximately 12 or 13, your body will begin to develop into a man's body."

Sapel pondered this as his father rubbed down his legs and feet. "Will I get hair like you?"

"Yes."

"Will my pee pee ... my peedus get big like yours?"

"Penis. Yes, Sapel."

The boy was quiet again as Spock helped him into his little loincloth and tied it snugly around his plump middle. "Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Did Mama's baby have a peedus?"

Spock stopped what he was doing and stared in shock into his son's wide inquisitive brown eyes. For a long moment he did not know what to say, then he found his voice and answered in a soft, rough whisper, "Yes, Sapel. Mama's baby would have been a boy."

"Did he die?"

"Yes, Sapel," Spock answered, his throat constricted. "When the buffalo hit Mama so hard, it made the baby growing inside her die."

"Can she grow another baby?" the boy asked innocently.

Spock pulled his son to him and held him tightly. "I don't know, Sapel," he whispered. "I hope so. I truly hope so." The boy put his arms around his father's neck and hugged him then Spock said, " _Cha'i?_ "

"Huh?"

"Don't say anything about this to Mama, all right? It would make her very sad."

"Okay, Papa."

"Good. Now, run along and see if Mama needs you to help her."

Sapel scampered away, the conversation already forgotten. But Spock sat for a long time beside the pond and worked at regaining his composure before he followed his son home.

* * *

Christine had already gone to bed by the time Spock slipped into the furs beside her. She'd had a long day and was tired. Nevertheless, she was pleasantly surprised when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and fervently, opening the portals of their Bond and flooding her with warmth and love.

When their lips parted, she whispered, "I thought you wanted to wait a couple of days."

"I do," he murmured back, his deep voice making a pleasant rumbling in his chest. "I simply wanted to express to you the depth of what I feel for you."

"Mmmmm ... be my guest." She smiled as she closed her eyes and her lips melted against his once more.

Outside the door barrier of their home, the wind gusted and there was a low rumble of thunder. Christine pulled away slightly from her husband's embrace and listened briefly. "Sounds like the wind's turned around to the north. I didn't expect a front to come through this soon."

He continued to nuzzle her neck and ear. "It is time," he murmured, dismissing the weather as irrelevant. He pushed slightly at her shoulder and rolled her over more onto her back, following so that he could move his lips to her throat.

She made a pleased sound and sighed, then said, "You're getting something started we can't finish."

He lifted his mouth from her throat and sighed as well. "I know. We will wait." He kissed her lips and then settled down on his side, drawing her against him as she turned her back to him and spooned into his warm embrace. Outside the rain had started and was coming down steadily. A cool draft crept in through the door barrier, bringing with it the smell of the rain.

"Summer's really over," Christine said softly. "We'll have to go south soon." They had stayed here in the valley the previous winter, following her miscarriage. Fortunately, that season had been mild and they had made it through without hardship. This year did not look to be so considerate.

"Yes, within two or three weeks at the latest," he agreed. "Tomorrow, we should do an inventory and see what we need to get together for the trip. I believe we are fairly well supplied but there will undoubtedly be some things we will need to make or prepare."

"I know. But right now I just want to enjoy lying here with you and listening to the rain. It is so restful."

"Indeed." He pulled the furs up over them as another draft wafted along the cave floor. "Good night, _t'hy'la_."

"Good night, my darling," she murmured and was asleep almost immediately, lulled by the warmth at her back and the music of the rain.

* * *

The rain was still falling the next morning and the temperature had taken a decided dip. Christine woke up when Sapel crawled into bed and snuggled up against her. "I'm cold, Mama," he said. Christine lifted her head a little and noticed that her breath smoked when she exhaled.

"That's because it's cold in here," she replied. Trapped between her son and her husband, she nudged Spock with her elbow and said, "Can you put some wood on the fire, sweetie?"

Spock rolled over onto his back and rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to get himself awake enough to leave his warm bed. Then he heaved himself up and felt his skin prickle as the chill air hit it. The stock of wood they had inside the cave was meager but he put this onto the hearth and poked the flames up into a blaze.

"I'll have to retrieve more from the woodpile," he said and started toward the door.

"You're not going out like that?!" Christine protested, seeing him dressed only in his loin cloth.

"It will take less than five minutes," he assured her. "In any case, I do not wish to get my clothing wet. It will take too long to dry them in this weather." So saying, he dashed out into the rain.

Their woodpile was just a few steps outside and covered to keep it as dry as possible, but still by the time Spock returned with an armload of wood and kindling, he was soaked and shivering. Christine had gotten up and pulled on her longest leather dress and high moccasins and was waiting with a chamois towel. After he had dumped the wood, she pounced on him and rubbed him down thoroughly then wrapped him in one of the extra bedding furs.

"You get back in that bed and warm up!" she ordered him.

He didn't argue. He was so cold that his teeth were nearly chattering. Gradually both he and the cave warmed up and, by that time, Christine had tea steeping and grain boiled and cooling slightly. She added some berries and honey to the grain and got Sapel started on breakfast, then took a cup of hot tea to where Spock still lay wrapped in the furs. He was covered to his ears and his eyes were closed.

"Spock?" she asked gently, a bit worried about him. "Are you all right?"

"Just cold," he answered, his voice muffled

"Well, here, drink this tea. It will help you warm up." He sat up, the furs still clutched around his shoulders and took the stone cup from her, sipping the hot liquid and feeling its warmth spreading down his torso. She fetched a warm shirt for him and he slipped it on, then got up and dressed in breeches and knee-high moccasins. His hair was still damp, though, and kept him from feeling comfortable.

She brought him a bowl of porridge and, just as he accepted it, he abruptly turned his head and sneezed. "Pardon me," he said.

She gazed at him appraisingly. "You're coming down with a cold," she diagnosed. Putting her hand against his forehead, she tried to determine if he had any fever, but his natural body heat was higher than a Human's and it was hard to tell. "I wonder if I have any feverplant I could add to your tea..."

"Christine, I am perfectly fine," he protested. "I sneezed once. That does not mean that I am ill."

"You don't normally sneeze or get this cold," she responded. "Do you ache? Is your head stuffy? How's your throat feel?"

He lifted an eyebrow at her and stared at her fixedly. "No, no and fine," he answered stiffly. "I just got wet and cold, nothing else. You do not need to play nurse to me."

" _Play_ nurse?" she replied, her own brows rising. "I am a nurse, buster! Now, hush and eat your gruel! That's a medical order!"

"Yes, Doctor," he muttered and brought a spoonful of the steaming grain to his lips.

"I heard that," she retorted, unable to keep the smile out of her voice. Sapel giggled in delight until his father shot him a warning look, then he turned back to his own breakfast.

* * *

Despite his protests, Spock developed a raging head cold over the next few days, complete with fever, cough, sneezing and runny nose. He was absolutely miserable and he made Christine miserable as a result. Then Sapel caught it and she had two patients to attend ... a whiny child and a grumpy husband. It didn't help when she herself started displaying symptoms and found that, in a universal constant, a woman could not take to her bed but had to get up and work anyway.

Spock was nearly over his cold by then and Sapel was feeling restless being cooped up in the cave. The weather, in the changeable way of autumn, had turned back to hot days and clear cold nights, and the rain had moved out of the area. Christine was huddled next to the fire, working unenthusiastically on sewing together a new fur parka for Sapel which he would need for their journey. The little boy, though, was making a pest of himself, wanting her attention and whining when he didn't get it.

Spock surveyed the scene for a moment, then scooped up Christine's gathering basket and his son in a couple of smooth motions. "Sapel, come help me pick berries and let Mama rest for a while."

"Where are you going to find berries?" Christine asked, wiping her nose on a chamois, and blinking watery eyes at him.

"I do not know, but at least you will have a bit of peace and quiet," he answered.

She smiled gratefully. "See if you can find any more of those orange-ish fruits. I think I got them all, but there may still be some left. They're good dried and I want to pack as many as we can for the trip."

"Rest. We will be back before dark." So saying, Spock stooped to clear the doorway and he and Sapel went out into the afternoon's sunny warmth.

* * *

When they returned at sundown, they found Christine bundled in her sleeping furs, shivering with fever. The fire had died down and the night chill was becoming evident. Spock set down the basket and immediately added wood to the hearth, poking the embers until the fire blazed, then went to check on his wife. Sapel, who was not feeling energetic any longer, had already burrowed into the warm furs and was snuggled against his mother.

"What can I get you?" Spock asked softly.

Christine sneezed and said, "Make tea and crumble some of the fuzzy looking plant leaves into it. Boil it for a minute and let it steep. Then drain off the liquid and discard the dregs." She shivered again and hugged the furs tighter.

Spock put the water to boiling and then set their door guard into place, draping a thick hide over it to keep out the cold drafts. The cave immediately became dark except for the flickering flames, the smoke rising up through the chimney hole in the roof. As their home warmed up, Christine stopped shivering and finally loosed her hold on the furs somewhat. Her head still felt like it was about to explode, however.

After Spock had brought her tea and was warming up soup and bread for their supper, Christine asked, "What did you find?"

"Redberries, sweet fern, and quite a few nut pods. I was surprised, though. I thought the tree leapers had gathered them all."

"I hope they didn't take all the good ones and leave the bad," Christine answered. "We'll crack a few and see. Sometimes they look fine but you'll see that a worm has already burrowed in and eaten the nut."

She closed her eyes and put her hand over her eyes, blocking the light of the fire. Spock laid a palm against her face.

"You are quite warm," he observed.

"I've got fever," she murmured back and slipped her hand down to rest atop his broad one, holding it against her cheek. "That feels nice."

"I want you to just stay in bed for a day or so," he answered. "I am better and can take care of Sapel and the household chores."

"We need to work on getting ready for the trip," she mumbled, still holding his palm to her face.

"That will wait," he answered softly.

"It won't wait too long. We've wasted nearly a month now being sick. If we don't hurry up, the winter is going to catch us."

He tilted his head slightly and peered down at her. "We do not know that. The weather is unpredictable this time of year. We may have lots of time."

"I don't think so. My bones ache."

He couldn't help smiling at that. "You are engaging in an old ... grandmother's tale."

"Old wives' tale," she corrected him. "Same thing, though. I'm telling you that my ribs and where I broke my arm ache and my granny always said that was a sign the weather was about to get bad."

"That is hardly a scientific basis for accurate weather prediction. _My_ grandmother always said that her bones ached when she ate too much _k'dish_ cake," Spock responded, his eyes crinkled with humor.

Christine opened her eyes and pinned him with a glare. "Ha ha ha. You wait and see. Meanwhile, check that soup. I think it's cooked long enough."

* * *

It was two days before Christine felt well enough to get up and moving and by that time her prediction had come true. The morning had been clear and muggy, almost oppressively so, but by late afternoon, the wind was gusting out of the north and thick gray clouds had covered the sky. By sundown, it was raining and the temperature was steadily dropping.

Her premonition about the weather gaining force, she had insisted that they bring in lots of firewood before the rain started and Spock had agreed, not liking the looks of the cold, heavy clouds.

It proved fortuitous. Not long after dark, the rain changed to sleet and began to freeze on anything it touched. The family stayed holed up in their warm, snug cave and listened to the wind moan and the freezing rain fall.

Morning brought them a transformed land. As far as they could see, every surface was coated with ice, sparkling with blinding radiance in the sun. Although the sky was brilliantly blue, the air was bitingly cold and all of them bundled up in their winter furs before stepping out to inspect their campsite. They didn't go any farther than the "porch", the dry area protected by an overhang, because the ground was treacherously slick.

Sapel was wide-eyed and awed. He'd never seen anything like this. "Papa, look at the pond! It's white!"

"Frozen," Spock confirmed, his breath smoking heavily as he spoke. "The waterfall, too. And look at the trees."

"Beautiful," Christine murmured. Each limb and leaf of every tree was coated with ice, tinkling faintly as the breeze moved them.

Suddenly there was a loud crack from the big tree that stood by the pond and, with a groan of splitting wood, a huge limb crashed to the ground, shattering the delicate load of ice it carried. Listening, they could all hear other snaps and cracks as trees in the woods upstream of them broke and fell under their burden of ice.

"And dangerous," Spock observed. "It would be prudent to stay indoors today. Until this ice melts, there is a real risk of being injured. Plus you, Christine, are not yet well enough to be out in this cold."

He ushered his wife and son back inside and wedged the hide-covered door into place, blocking out some of the cold. Inside it was dark, the only light seeping in around the doorgate and through the skylight of the chimney hole, supplemented by their oil lamps and the hearth fire. Sapel could not keep away from the fascinating sights outside and spent the day peeking around the hide covering at the radiant wonderland beyond their snug home.

At last, by mid-afternoon he had worn down his parents and Spock agreed to take him out to experience the ice first hand, having first determined that all the limbs that were likely to break under the weight of their burden of ice had already fallen. They both bundled up in their furs and stepped outside. Spock proceeded cautiously but Sapel, with the exuberance of childhood, stepped out boldly, slipped and slid down the slight slope from their door. Laughing uproariously, he somehow made his way back up and slid down once again.

This game kept up for several more repetitions and then the boy was off to investigate close up the enchanting spectacle of ice-encrusted leaves, his father picking his way after him. From her vantage point at the cave's entryway, Christine shook her head and watched them go.

* * *

Spock and Sapel were back before too long, the intense cold having penetrated even the dense furs that they wore, and Sapel having sated his curiosity about the icy panorama. Spock seemed a bit stiff as he disrobed in the warmth of the cave and Christine made him hold still long enough to examine a large, dark-green bruise that was becoming visible on his left hip.

"What happened?!" she demanded.

"Papa fell down!" Sapel giggled.

"It was hardly a matter for humor, Sapel," Spock reprimanded him. "A serious injury might have resulted."

"Well, thankfully you didn't break your hip," Christine clucked over him. "I'll make a hot poultice to put on it. That'll take some of the swelling down and make it feel better."

"Good," her husband answered in a somewhat ironic tone.

"Meanwhile, you guys have some soup and warm up. You're both frozen solid!"

The two explorers didn't argue but helped themselves to the lentil and legume soup that was steaming beside the fire. It was thick and spicy with peppery herbs and served its purpose well. By the time they were finished eating, Christine had the hot pack ready and drew Spock over to their bedding, where she had him lie on his right side as she pressed the poultice against the bruise, now turning an angry blue-green-black.

Spock gave a surprised yelp as the hot leathers hit his skin, but Christine held them firmly in place until he became accustomed to the heat. "Now, you just let that stay there," she ordered and went to get a bowl of soup for herself.

Bringing it back to the bed, she sat down cross-legged beside Spock and they talked softly while she ate. "See anything interesting out there?" she asked.

"Indeed I did," he answered seriously. "There was not a single animal in sight, as far as I could see. What herd animals were left in the area have gone. There is no question about it now. We _must_ leave within a few days."

"Can you travel with that?" she asked, nodding toward his hip. "There may be some real damage there. How did it happen?"

"As you have no doubt surmised, I slipped on the ice. Unfortunately, my hip impacted a tree limb that had fallen. It is quite painful and no doubt will cause me some discomfort in the coming days, but it is not so serious that I cannot travel." He shifted a bit. "And travel we certainly must. We can delay no longer."

"How long do we have?" she wondered.

"Providing the weather will cooperate, I would like to be on our way within three days, four at the latest," Spock answered. "I know that none of us are in peak condition, but this winter gives every indication of being a severe one and we will be out of food within a month if we stay here."

"Oh, I agree with that," Christine replied, then wiped her runny nose on a piece of soft chamois. "Well, we'll just have to tough it out and do it anyway. How's the hip feeling now?"

"Better."

"Good. We'll keep those hot packs on it as much as we can and hopefully it will be on its way to healing by the time we leave. Meanwhile, I'll get back to work and finish up those last winter clothes for Sapel and, while I do, we can talk about what we need to get together and pack."

* * *

Spock paused and probed into the snow with the butt of his spear. The ice seemed thick enough here to bear his weight and he cautiously moved forward and repeated the process. The little river they were traversing wasn't very wide nor presumably very deep, but he did not want to risk falling through and getting any of his clothing wet. On the shore, Christine and Sapel waited.

At last Spock reached the other side, having pushed a pathway through the knee deep snow that covered the river's hard frozen surface. On the bank, he turned and called back, "Send Sapel over first. Stay in the trackway I made!"

Christine urged her little son to go ahead and the boy stepped carefully down, picking up on the tension his parents were feeling and understanding that this was not the time for play. Gravely, he moved with measured steps across the river until he reached his father's waiting, outstretched hands. Spock pulled him up onto shore then looked back at his wife.

"All right, Christine, stay on the path. Walk slowly."

She did as she was told, taking one cautious step at a time. Halfway across, where the ice was thinnest, she froze with a jolt of fear as the ice creaked ominously underneath her, then forced herself to keep going, a bit more quickly now. The creaking followed her and she feared that the weight of three people crossing it was stressing its strength to the limit.

Spock feared the same thing and stepped out to reach for her, grasping her hands and yanking her to safety. Behind her, they could see a streak of white snaking through the ice ... a forming crack. Christine clung to Spock for a moment, catching her breath, their exhalations fogging thickly in the frigid air. Then she nodded and the travelers continued on up the bank and on their way.

Winter had caught them on the second day out, blasting out of the north with a howling wind and a thick, wet blanket of snow. They had remained holed up in the shelter of their little tent for a day and a night while the storm raged, unable to build a fire inside the tent and relying on their combined body heat as they lay huddled together inside a thick roll of bedding furs. They had managed to pitch their tent in the lee of a creek bank, just enough to cut the force of the wind.

Sapel had been frightened and cried for a long time, but finally went to sleep pressed snugly between his mother's and his father's bodies, who lay face to face with their backs against the thick bull hide tent. It was the same bull that had nearly killed Christine a little over a year before. Spock had gone back and salvaged the hide, leaving the carcass for the scavengers. But the huge, heavy hide was too valuable to waste. While Christine healed from her injuries, he had worked at tanning it, a massive project that took him three months to complete. But it had been worth it. Leather from the tough pelt had furnished new winter moccasins for all three of them and the remainder had been fashioned into this tent, sturdy and impervious to wind and water and — they were discovering — snow.

The first day on their journey south, they had followed their familiar little creek down to where it joined the small river that meandered through the grass lands. They had followed this route many times before and managed to travel about 15 miles from their valley before stopping to make camp. That night was uneventful and they had pushed on the following day, still tracing the river's course. It was late afternoon when Spock realized that the temperature was dropping more rapidly than it should have with the sun still up and the air had a barely discernible scent to it that spoke to him of coming snow.

Hurriedly, he decided to make camp while they had the chance. The heavy overcast made the day gray and ominous, adding to his disquiet. One of his concerns was being forced to camp in the open. The river banks were too steep to afford a place to set their tent. Then he spotted an irregularity in the rolling meadows and moved them toward it. The line was a small creek bed that in wet weather ran into the larger river, but had dried up completely during the arid summer. The scant rain that had fallen a month earlier had done little more than form mud patches that had cracked and curled under the sun. Best of all, the north bank was deep enough to make a windbreak.

The wind was picking up and the scent of snow was unmistakable now as Spock and Christine worked frantically to get their tent up and bedrolls inside. Fat flakes of snow were beginning to fall as the three of them crawled inside the low hide tent and Spock got the end pieces fastened together with bone pegs. Then there was nothing to do but roll up together in the furs and wait out the blizzard.

Sapel shivered and whimpered until finally Christine began to speak softly, "How about a story, sweetheart?"

"What?"

"How about this one? Once upon a time there were three bears and they all lived together in a little house in the woods."

"What're bears?" the boy sniffed.

"Great big furry animals that live on the planet I come from, Earth. They're usually mean and ferocious with great big teeth, but these particular bears were all pretty nice because they lived in this little house."

"Whatsa house?"

"It's a place where people live," Christine answered, realizing that she was using terms her son might not be familiar with. "Okay, let's change it a bit. Once upon a time, there were three bears who lived in a nice snugly cave like the one we live in. There was the Papa Bear, the Mama Bear and the Baby Bear."

"Like you, me and Papa," Sapel interjected.

"That's right. The Papa Bear was Great Big and he had a Great Big chair, and a Great Big bed, and he ate out of a Great Big bowl."

"Whatsa a chair?"

Christine sighed and exchanged glances with Spock, who had been lying quietly watching her, an amused expression on his face, his dark eyes crinkled with humor. "It's your story," he told her. "Do not look to me for help."

"Fat lot of good you are," she retorted good-naturedly. "Well, I can see that I'm going to have to do some re-writing on this particular fairy tale. Okay, the Papa Bear had a Great Big rock and a Great Big fur to sleep on and a Great Big bowl to eat out of. The Mama Bear was Sort Of Big and had a Sort Of Big rock to sit on and a Sort Of Big fur to sleep on and a Sort Of Big bowl to eat out of. The Baby Bear had a Little Bitty rock to sit on and a Little Bitty fur to sleep on and a Little Bitty bowl to eat out of."

Sapel giggled at the image, not quite picturing what a bear was but understanding the rest.

Christine continued. "One day the Mama Bear made boiled grain and berries for them to eat but it was much too hot. The Papa Bear said— " And she made her voice deep. "— 'My grain is too hot!'. And the Mama Bear said— " Her voice lifted to a normal range. "—'My grain is too hot.' And the Baby Bear said— " And her voice went up high. "—'My grain is too hot, too!' The Mama Bear said, 'Let's go for a walk and by the time we get back, it will be cool enough to eat.' So they did just that!"

Christine glanced up at her husband who was listening with a rapt attention. He lifted an eyebrow at her. _Fascinating_ , his voice whispered softly within her mind. She smiled back at him.

"While they were out, along came a little boy named Sapel," she went on.

"Me!!"

"And he was tired and hungry and curious, so he went into the bears' cave. At first he sat on the Papa Bear's Great Big rock and said, 'This is much too big.' Then he sat on the Mama Bear's Sort Of Big rock and said, 'This is still too big.' Then he sat on the Baby Bear's Little Bitty rock and said, 'This is JUUUST right!"

Sapel giggled in delight. Christine went on to spin a Terra Two version of the venerable children's story. "...and the Baby Bear said, 'Someone's been sleeping in MY furs and he's RIGHT HERE!!' Sapel was so frightened that he jumped up and ran out of the bears' cave and back to where his own Mama and Papa were waiting and they all lived happily ever after," she finally concluded.

Sapel yawned hugely, his fear now lost in the telling of the old tale and snuggled into his mother's warm breast. "Papa?" he asked sleepily.

"Hmmm?"

"Are there bears where you come from?"

"No, not bears," Spock answered softly, a little smile pulling at his lips. "On Vulcan, there are animals that look a little like bears but they are called _sehlats_. Some other time I will tell you about the _sehlat_ I had as a pet when I was a little boy like you. His name was i-Chaya."

"...Chaya?"

"Eye-Chaya. I will tell you about the day i-Chaya found a _z'tin'kh_ in the garden and dug up all your grandmother's Terran roses to capture it. But that's another story. Go to sleep now, _cha'i._ "

Sapel had already drifted off, secure and safe between his parents.

Christine brought her eyes back to her husband's face, now barely visible in the falling darkness. "What's a _z'tin'kh_?" she asked.

"Something similar to a gopher. A burrowing rodent."

"Did he really dig up Amanda's roses?"

"Indeed he did. My mother became ... exceptionally emotional as a result," Spock smiled, his expression full of fondness at the memory. "I'm afraid all of the rest of the household, including my father and me, were hesitant to encounter her for some time after that. I never knew she had such a formidable temper."

Christine chuckled quietly. They lay listening to the wind buffet the bull hide tent, its sound somewhere between a scream and a moan at times. Wrapped in their layers of furs, their body heat was adequate to keep them warm, but not much beyond that.

Their breath fogged gently as they exhaled and Christine reached out to trail her fingers along Spock's jawline. He had stopped shaving a week or so before and his face now sported a short, dark beard covering his cheeks, chin, upper lip and down to his throat. She let her fingertips trace along the still bristly beard until they came to rest on his lips.

"I like that," she murmured, moving her finger along his moustache. "You look good with a beard."

"During the winter, anyway," he smiled. "Come summer, I will shave it off again. It is too hot and itchy then."

"It still looks good on you."

He reached up and began his own gentle exploration of her face with his fingertips. Then he folded under all but his forefinger and middle finger and his light stroking took on a purposeful pattern. With a gasp, she felt their mindbond surging open and the incredible warmth of his mental persona flood into her. It brought a surge of sexual desire with it.

She opened her eyes and stared back at him. "Spock, we can't do that right now," she whispered. "Not here."

"But that does not prevent me wishing to do it, wife," he responded in a deep-throated murmur. He stroked her face one more time, then withdrew his fingers. "My greatest joys are the times when you welcome me inside you, both mentally and physically."

She smiled adoringly at him and caressed his cheek one more time, then changed the subject to one less fraught with circumstance. "Do you want something to eat? I've got some journey bread I can reach."

"Please," he answered and waited as she fished out a couple of round wafers of salted grain and fruit mashed together and formed into easily carried disks like large cookies. There was a little dried, grated meat mixed in too for protein, but the fruit sweetened it all and bound it together. The dried wafers were hard and nutritious, portable food perfect for eating during travels.

The two lay munching on the bread and listening to the storm whip over their sturdy tent as the dim twilight settled into heavy, full night. "How far down river do you want to go?" Christine asked after a while. "Do you want to go back up into the hills to the ship site?"

She couldn't see his face, but he paused for a moment and she knew he was thinking. "I believe we should follow the river a little farther south this time. We were side tracked winter before last by the lions we encountered. By going west to the hills, we lost our proximity to the herds we were following. I would prefer to continue south until such time that we determine that this is not our best option. We can always journey back to the hill country and winter at the ship."

Christine gave a little grunt of agreement, chewing on another bite of the fibrous bread. "I keep thinking that, if we go far enough, we'll out run this weather."

"That, I cannot say. Since we have never been more than about 150 miles south of our summer home, I have no way of knowing how far the winter weather might extend."

"True. I guess we won't know until we find out, hmm?"

Spock was quiet then said in a slightly puzzled tone, "Christine, that statement is so completely obvious as to leave me utterly speechless."

She laughed. "Then shush." At his offended silence, she reached up to locate his face in the dark, then leaned to kiss his lips lightly. "I'm going to sleep. 'Night, love."

"Peaceful dreams, my wife. I shall stay awake, at least for a while, and make sure that all is well." Overhead, as if to dispute his statement, the wind gusted especially violently and shook the little tent hard. Still, it was low to the ground, protected by a wind break, and the stakes were hammered strong and deep. There was nothing on it for the wind to gain purchase and the blowing snow raced over and around its surface.

Spock drew their furs closer about his wife and son, then settled down to wait out the night.

* * *

Spock shaded his eyes and peered into the distance. From his vantage point on top of the low hill, he could see the course of the river they had been following for ten days now. They had long since left the snow behind, the fickle weather turning warm again as the wind changed around to the south and blew steadily from that direction.

The little river that left their valley had joined a larger one flowing from the northwest and the larger river that resulted rapidly became too wide to cross. There being no real reason why they should cross it, they continued along its eastern bank, exploring as they went.

The river meandered in a southeasterly direction, winding its way along a wide shallow flood plain, joined here and there by creeks and small rivers, most of which were easily forded. The plain was thinly wooded and heavily populated with game that had migrated south with the onset of winter weather. There were numerous predators, too, that took advantage of the herds and the little family took care to avoid them. Spock limited his own hunting to small game that would provide them with a meal or two and allow them to move on. He did not plan on lingering in the area.

To the far west they could make out the line of hills where they had found the crashed Romulan ship two years before. To their east stretched a vast, primordial forest of pine-like trees and dense undergrowth, dark and forbidding. The river valley bordered it and Spock led his family down this natural highway into an area of rolling hills and woods. The river cut through a pass to one side of a hill and cascaded down an area of rapids before continuing on its way.

It was from this point that Spock saw their final destination. The line of hills continued on the west side of the river, looping back around to the east, culminating in a series of tall, craggy hills ... almost big enough to be called low mountains. The river flowed through a cut between two of them and from there emptied into a blue expanse stretching as far as he could see along the horizon.

"There it is," he said to Christine who stood beside him, hoisting Sapel up onto one hip.

"So you were right," she answered, squinting. "The sea."

"Or a gigantic lake. We shall have to test whether it is fresh water or salt. It's getting late. Let's find a place to camp tonight and tomorrow we'll attempt to reach the shore," Spock answered and they turned to pick up their packs once more.

* * *

While his wife and son explored the beach, delighting in the rush and retreat of waves from the salt water ocean, Spock stood deep in thought. They had arrived two days before and had made their way to the western side of the river, taking advantage of low level of the water, low tide and a number of sand bars and small islands that divided the river's mouth into numerous shallow channels. The wide sandy beach here stretched in a long easy curve for several miles, ending finally in cliffs upon which the waves splashed and broke. On this end, the river ran through a cut in wooded hills that to Spock's eye had the look of being volcanic in origin, although so long dormant that they were eroded into pleasant and accessible hillsides. The nearest one was perhaps a thousand feet high, the next one along about half again as tall.

It was this second one that had drawn his interest. Set about half a mile back from the ocean and far enough to be out of the reach of the tides and storm waves, it rose to a softly pointed crest, its slopes covered with the pine-like timber that was so prevalent here. Its sides were gentle, making it easy to go up and down and an early climb had revealed several fresh water springs trickling from cracks in its rocky flanks.

But that was not the best part of it. Facing the ocean and affording a stunning view was a break in the side of the hill, a place long ago eroded into an indentation about five or six feet into the stone of the slope. It was too shallow to be called a cave but the rock overhang formed a low roof that would afford some shelter.

Spock was also sizing up the forest of tall pines and plans began to materialize in his mind that were half-formed before he even realized he was thinking them. Both eyebrows went up in surprise at the audacity of his idea and he turned his considerable mental abilities to solving the problem he had set before himself.

When he came back down to the beach, Christine noticed his pre-occupied, thoughtful expression and approached him. "Spock?" she asked. "What is it?"

He looked up at her and a speculative little smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Christine?" he responded. "How would you like me to build you a house?"

* * *

Stripped to the waist, sweat trickling down his back and through the hair on his chest and stomach, Spock once more drove the axe deep into the pine's trunk, sending light-colored chips flying. Working the blade free, he pulled back and then landed another hard blow, again sinking the flint blade into the heartwood of the tree, his muscles bulging with the effortless strength he exerted, his skin glistening in the afternoon sun.

This time there was a loud splitting sound and the tree began to move, leaning away from him. He gave it a doublehanded push to aid its momentum and was rewarded as it groaned and began to lean farther and faster, then with a tremendous crack, the trunk split at the cut site and the huge pine crashed to the ground, throwing up dust and ground litter.

Spock stood back and wiped sweat from his face with the back of one dirty hand. His hair, tied back and held with a leather thong, stuck to the moisture dripping down the hard muscles of his back and shoulders, and his short dark beard, muscular chest and powerful arms were powdered with wood chips and dust. The sweat tickling its way down his naked torso attested to the immense amount of work he had performed. Vulcans did not sweat easily but Spock was drenched after this day's labor.

Catching his breath, he paused to gulp down a cool drink from his water bag. He had managed to fell seven trees today, making a grand total of 38 in the two weeks he had been working. He wasn't sure how many he would ultimately need to build the cabin, but this would make a good start. Tomorrow he would begin the job of trimming and moving them to the location of their new home. It would take both him and Christine to pull the big logs. Even with his Vulcan strength, he couldn't transport them alone.

While he was engaged in the laborious business of cutting trees with his flint axe, made harder by the fact that the blade had to be reshaped and resharpened after every tree and a whole new blade fashioned after every fourth or fifth one, Spock had set Christine and Sapel to work preparing the foundation for the cabin. The indentation in the hillside was the starting point. They would take advantage of its shelter and build out from there, a simple, single room opening into the rock shelter itself.

While Spock cut timber, Christine and Sapel had cleared the floor area and brought in basketloads of sand from the beach, dumping it and leveling it out into a flat, even surface, reaching back into the rock shelter, tamping it down firmly. Once that was done and while waiting for Spock to begin the next phase of construction, they had searched for and transported rocks to build a hearth and chimney.

Exhausted, Spock decided to call it a day and bent to pick up his leather shirt, water bag and the bag that held the flint nodules and working tools used to fashion the axe blades. As he plodded back toward their campsite at the shelter, he found himself pondering how he might contrive a metal blade. Even the poorest iron or copper would last longer than flint, but there were almost insurmountable obstacles in smelting metal, not the least of which was finding an ore deposit. He doubted this area contained such a treasure and, even if it did, there was still the problem of building a forge and finding a way to make a fire hot enough to melt the ore and refine it. Shaking his head, he dismissed it as a pipe dream. Someday, perhaps, but not today...

Reaching the clearing around the rock overhang, he found that Christine and Sapel had also worked hard. The floor was finished and they had gathered enough stones to make a hearth circle, where Christine was in the process of laying a fire. They had decided to erect their tent back up under the rock ceiling. It was scant protection at this point, but better than nothing. The weather had been cooperative so far, but it was just a matter of time before winter edged its way this far south. Spock wanted to at least have the walls of the cabin up by that time.

Christine noted her grimy, weary husband trailing into camp and stood up to greet him, kissing him lightly. "You look about beat," she commented.

"It is quite a laborious task," he answered, bending down to ruffle Sapel's dark hair before going to toss his shirt over the top of the tent as a makeshift clothes rack. Setting down the water and tool bag, he seemed to notice how dirty he was and brushed ineffectually at the wood chips clinging to him.

Christine watched him for a moment then said, "How about a hot bath?"

Spock looked up at her and one eyebrow crept up sardonically. "Indeed. Might I also have a beaker of _saya_ and a selection from Brahms while I bathe?"

"I'm not kidding," she responded. "Come on. I have something to show you."

Spock was still skeptical but Sapel piped up, "C'mon, Papa! You'll like it!"

Curious now, Spock relented and, catching up his spear, he followed the woman and boy as they went down a barely visible trail between the trees, going in the opposite direction from which he'd come. They traveled for about ten minutes, then he heard the musical tinkle of falling water and, almost simultaneously, realized that what he had taken as early evening mist was actually steam!

Christine led him out into a little natural clearing, where water bubbled out of the black rocks and ran in a little stream over a tiny waterfall and into a basin about twelve feet across. From the far end, it overflowed into another little cascade that hurried away down the hillside to be lost in the trees. Steam wafted over the pool and upper stream, drifting off into the woods.

"We found it this morning while collecting rocks," Christine explained, smiling, as Spock studied it in amazement. "It's pretty warm but not unbearable. Like a really hot bath. Sapel and I tried it out this morning and it's wonderful."

"You try it, Papa!" the boy urged. "Anyway, you need it! You stink!"

Spock glanced down in incredulity at his son but Christine burst out laughing before he could say anything in reprimand.

"Sapel's right," she chuckled. "You're pretty ripe."

Looking as dignified as possible, Spock turned his gaze on his wife. "I have been engaged in quite strenuous work," he retorted. "I have no control over the fact that such work produces perspiration."

That sent her into another peal of laughter. "Just get in there and soak for a while! Sapel and I will go back and get supper started, eh, sport?"

"We caught a fish, too!" the boy announced.

"Not here, of course, but in the main stream," Christine explained. "You relax and enjoy your bath and supper should be ready by the time you are. Shout if you need anything. I think we should be able to hear you."

"Little comfort if I am devoured by a large predator," Spock replied, dead-pan, but already looking forward to the first hot bath he had enjoyed in longer than he could remember.

* * *

"Easy ... easy... now!" Spock released some of the tension of his rope and Christine did the same on hers. The big log suspended from the hoist thunked solidly into place, the notched ends grinding into the grooves on the logs below it.

Christine slumped in weariness and surveyed the result. It had taken them a full ten days to move the timber Spock had cut from where the trees lay to the clearing. Another two days were used in lopping off branches and knots and in chopping trenches into the ends so that the logs would fit snugly together. She had worked alongside him, hacking with the flint axe he had made for her until her muscles screamed in protest and didn't feel as if she could lift her arms again. She'd never imagined building a cabin would be this much work.

The first two or three logs had been fitted with relative ease, compared to what came later. But then the walls were too high for them to lift the logs into place and Spock had devised and built the hoist, a double-tripod sort of contraption that enabled them to maneuver other logs into position and drop them there. It worked, but it was ferocious work.

Nevertheless, they had the walls up now, rising about six feet high. The ceiling would be low, providing they figured out a way to get the roof on, but it would be adequate, even if Spock had to bend his six foot one inch frame a little bit to keep from hitting his head. Maybe they'd lower the floor to accommodate him.

Like her, he was now standing back to survey their work and seemed satisfied. She walked over and slipped an arm around his waist and he reciprocated with an arm around her shoulders, pulling her snugly against him.

"It's a fine house," she commented softly.

"It is crude but I hope that it will prove adequate," he responded, typically self-deprecating.

She squeezed him reassuringly. "Let's go clean up. Sapel!"

The boy came around from the other side of the cabin, completely covered with gray mud. His job was to mix up mud and pine straw, then slather the mess into the chinks between the logs. It was pure heaven for a small child and he had taken advantage of the situation by slathering himself with the mixture as well.

Christine gave a little cry of dismay and took her arm from around her husband, resting her fists on her hips instead. "David Sapel!" she declared. "What in the name of peace do you think you're doing?! You look like a pig in a mudhole!"

He looked down at himself as if noticing for the first time that he was uniformly gray from head to foot, then peered back at her, his brown eyes curious. "What's a pig, Mama?"

"An animal that lives in the dirt!" she responded. "You get down to that hot spring right this minute!"

He scampered off, his mother stamping after him. Spock followed, unable to suppress the quiet chuckle that rumbled up from his chest.

They had moved their camp next to the hot spring, not only for the convenience of having hot water at hand, but also for the automatic warmth it offered. Winter had found them again, although it was merely with a chilly north wind and occasional cold rain. The heat that the hot spring generated was enough to raise the ambient temperature in its vicinity a few degrees, enough to make a difference.

By the time Spock caught up with his wife, she had stripped their son naked and had him in the cooler end of the pool, sluicing water over his head and grumbling about how many layers of filth she was having to scrub away. Spock knelt down close beside her and splashed hot water on his face, rinsing away his own layers of grime, then washed his hands. He'd take a real bath later on, but right now he only wanted to do a superficial cleaning and see what they had to eat. With both he and Christine working on the cabin, he hadn't had time to hunt and they had been relying on rations they had brought with them, coupled with seafood they gathered on the beach a half mile away.

He decided that he'd let the cabin work go for a few days and replenish their dwindling food supplies. It would also give him a chance to explore a bit more as well as acquaint himself with the game in this area. He had noticed a small animal in the forest that resembled both a deer and the proto-horses that lived on the plain. It was smaller than the deer of the northern woods where he and his family normally lived, but should provide them with adequate meat.

He had a supper of fish stew heating by the time Christine returned with a now clean Sapel, who skipped in completely naked, his skin pink and glowing. Despite his one-quarter Vulcan heritage and the look of a Vulcan child, Sapel was predominantly Human and had red blood. The child had been utterly fascinated to discover that his father bled dark emerald instead of the bright ruby of himself and his mother, and Spock had taken the opportunity to tell the youngster of his dual heritage and of the Vulcan people. The boy accepted it as completely normal, just the way things were.

Christine hung the boy's wet leather clothing up on a limb to dry, having washed the mud out of the garments while she was at the pool. "Get your night shirt on," she instructed him.

"It's not night," the boy protested, squatting down by the fire and watching his father stir the soup.

"It's about to be and it's already cold."

"I'm not cold."

"You _will_ be. Scoot!"

Reluctantly, Sapel obeyed, pulling on the long leather tunic that served him as a sleeping gown during cooler weather. He was getting to the point of protesting having to wear it. After all, his father didn't wear one. Spock slept only in his loin cloth and Sapel wanted to sleep that way as well, but Christine insisted that he dress in a warmer fashion.

He appealed to a higher court. "Papa ... do I have to..."

"Yes," Spock interrupted, dishing out stew and handing it to him. "It's too cold for you to sleep naked."

"But you do..."

Spock pinned him with a strong look. "Because I also sleep with your mother and our combined body heat keeps us warm."

"Then why can't I sleep with you two?"

"Because it is not proper."

"Why not?"

"Because you are too old to share your mother's bed."

"Why?"

Spock's brows lowered in a warning gesture. "Sapel, I will not argue about this. You will continue to sleep in your own bed and you will wear your night shirt as your mother bids. Is that understood?"

The boy backed down, dropping his eyes to his bowl. "Yes, Papa," he mumbled without much enthusiasm.

"Very well. Eat your supper."

Christine had not entered the discussion but caught Spock's eye afterwards and gave him a knowing look. Through their bond, she said, _We must talk, husband_.

 _Later_.

 _Agreed_. And she settled down to her own meal.

* * *

Her arms draped languidly around Spock's neck, Christine closed her eyes and leaned in to press a series of light, teasing kisses along his temple and cheek, savoring the hot moisture of his skin against her lips. His eyes were closed as well, as he relaxed in the hot water and allowed his wife to make love to him.

She brushed his hair back off his forehead and let her kisses roam up the line of one dark, straight eyebrow, then repeated the action along the other one. He sighed and shifted a little and she transferred her attention to one ear, drawing the end of her tongue lightly along the edge until she reached the tip, tickling him.

His brows bunched together a bit and he gave a groan. Between her legs, she felt his erection surge against her as she straddled his lap. His ears were wonderfully sensitive, she knew, and moved her mouth to engulf the tip, this time sucking gently.

He seized her in a close embrace and groaned again. "Christine," he said through clenched teeth. "If you do not wish this to end immediately, I would advise against doing that."

Instead, she whispered sensuously into his ear. "Are you ready for me?" The question was unnecessary. She could feel his throbbing shaft hard against her, caught between his lower abdomen and her swollen, eager lips. Still, she slipped a hand down into the steamy water between them and gently stroked him, further arousing him.

Moving his hands up to grip her just below the shoulders, Spock opened his eyes and locked his fevered gaze on hers. Gently, he lifted her clear of his lap and she guided him unerringly between her legs to the entry he sought. As the firm head pushed into her, she gave a soft gasp of her own and threw back her head as she sank down onto the exquisite impalement, feeling him fill her completely.

He held still, allowing her to fully experience their moment of first joining, then he began to move his hips up against her in a gentle motion. She picked up his rhythm and intensified it, their mental bond opening and merging until both were lost in the sensations permeating themselves and each other. Cupping her dripping breasts in his hands, he bent to suckle first one nipple then the other, drawing them up into rigid points. In return, she stroked her fingertips up and down the edges of his ears, stimulating him almost unbearably.

He lifted his head and pulled her against him once more, his hands sliding down to hold her hips firm against his, pounding up into her hard and with building intensity. In a moment, his hips came up one final time and froze there as he tensed and a range of emotions played over his face, his eyes squeezed shut as he pulsed deep within her. She met him fully, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode her own orgasm over its peak and they hung there motionless for a long moment.

At last he relaxed and worked to catch his breath, and she slumped against him, resting her head on his shoulder. They held one another as the last electrical shudders shook them, then she raised herself and bent to meet his lips in a loving, tender kiss.

"I love you, Spock," she whispered.

"My heart," he murmured in return, drawing her into another kiss.

Then she dismounted from her position astride him and settled into the hot, soothing water, sinking down until it was nearly to her shoulders. "That was so good," she sighed with a smile. "Oh, I could go to sleep right here."

"I do not think that would be wise," he answered, amused. "You would be as red as a lobster by morning."

"I know, but it's just so nice!"

He chuckled indulgently and she roused herself a bit. When he saw that she was more alert, he changed the subject and said, "You wished to speak with me about Sapel."

That brought her fully awake. "Yes," she answered seriously. "It's not going to be long before he's going to start asking some very difficult questions, you know. He's already noticed the difference between you and me and I've caught him examining himself a couple of times now."

"I know," Spock answered thoughtfully. "I have already answered questions about his anatomy and I suspect they are only the beginning. I deliberately brushed his questions away this evening because I did not feel the time was right, but he will soon begin to ask me why you and I share a bed. And I am not entirely certain how much I should tell him about sexual relations."

"Keep it simple," she advised him. "He's still a very little child. Don't overload him with information he's not ready for."

She laughed softly. "I remember an old story about a father who had determined to be upfront with his son when the time came, and sure enough one day the boy came to him and asked where he had come from. The father went into this long, clinical explanation about sex and love and finally noticed the boy looking really puzzled. The father asked, 'Do you understand what I've told you?' The little boy answered, 'Not really. My friend Joe says he came from New York and I was just wondering where I came from.'"

Christine laughed again at the story and Spock looked over at her fondly, the corners of his mouth stretching into a little smile. "An apocryphal story without doubt, but a humorous one." She elbowed him in retaliation. "However, I understand the moral of it. I shall take care to evaluate what he is asking before I answer."

Christine was quiet for a moment then let her gaze wander up through the trees to the canopy of stars in the night sky. "There's something else that's bothered me now and then," she said. "Spock ... when does _pon farr_ occur in Vulcan boys?"

That caught him a bit off guard, but then he answered seriously, "It usually does not occur until full sexual maturity at around age 28. However, the age varies widely. I was 36 when I first experienced it. I understand that it can occur as early as 14 or 15. That is rare, but it is possible."

"What about Sapel?" Her voice held a bit of tension. "Do you think he will get it early?"

Spock sighed. "He may not experience it at all. He is three-quarters Human and it may pass him by completely. My own _pon farr_ occurred so late that I had hoped I would be spared. I suspect my Human heritage delayed it, but did not prevent it completely."

Christine turned fearful eyes on her husband and asked intensely, "And what if he's not spared? What are we going to do then?"

Spock's brow furrowed together and, when he answered, his voice was hoarse. "There are ... techniques ... meditations that may be used. But ... they are not always successful."

Christine's nails dug into his arm and he turned to see that her face had become fierce. "If worse comes to worse, I want you to know something, Spock. I will do anything to keep my son alive. Do you understand what I am saying? _Anything!_ "

His throat felt dry with horror but he understood her all too well. "We will continue to hope that such a day never arrives," he answered softly and put his arm around her shoulder to draw her against him. She was trembling. "That day will be far into the future, in any case, and the future always holds infinite possibilities and pathways. Please think no more about it."

She slipped her arm across his bare chest and snuggled against him, trying to let the heated water of the hot spring dissolve away that blackest of scenarios.

* * *

Using their combined strength on the guide rope, Spock and Christine worked the ridge beam into place along the main axis of the roof line. The big log was wedged into the cliff face at its far end and rested here on the forward wall, extending out over the eave. The notch slipped into place and held. "That's it!" he said and they eased up on the rope. It was the biggest, heaviest log of all and would serve as the center beam on which the roof would rest.

"Looks good," Christine said.

"It should prove an adequate anchor for the rafters to be attached to. Now I can begin cutting timber for the roof. If the weather holds, we should be able to begin putting the roof on within five days." Spock slipped off the leather hand coverings he used as gloves and stuck them into his belt. They were more like mittens than gloves, having no individual fingers, but Christine had devised them after he had begun to develop blisters from the intense labor he was putting in with axe and rope. As calloused and hardened as his hands had become over the years, they could not withstand the recent abuse.

Christine stripped off her own gloves. "I'll start work on the fireplace and chimney then." She stretched and flexed one arm, the one that had been broken a year earlier. "My old bones are aching again. I think it's going to rain."

He gave her an amused look. "Your bones are likely just stressed from lifting that ridge beam."

"We'll see, smarty pants. You never believe me and I'm always right." He merely lifted an eyebrow in answer. "Oh, let's take a break and have some lunch. I'm starved!"

"That is agreeable. This work does indeed work up an appetite."

The day was pleasant and sunny, although a bit cool, and they decided to go down to the beach and eat there. Gathering Sapel, who had been playing nearby, Spock and Christine stopped by their campsite to pick up food and water, then they all trooped down to the sandy stretch along the ocean front. After collecting dry driftwood, they soon had a fire going and gathered around its warmth, dining on flat bread and roasted fish from the evening before. Christine boiled some water in a pot she had brought along and made tea to warm them.

The ocean was choppy and gray today, the waves washing a bit farther up the beach than normal. "See that?" Christine said. "I'll bet anything there's a storm brewing out there." She turned to look at her husband, who was sitting cross-legged beside her, sipping his tea. "Spock, how long would it take to get the roof up?"

"I do not know. It depends on how long it takes to find and cut the proper size of timber."

She looked back to sea. "I've got a really bad feeling about this. I'd feel much better if we had the house finished to the point that we could take shelter in it. I think we both ought to work on cutting trees. You show me what you want and we'll split up and do twice the work."

Spock gave her an appraising look. "I am not sanguine about premonitions, but I too would prefer having construction finished. Very well, you finish your tea and I will go ahead and look for the proper size of trees we need for the roof."

"Okay," she said, the little voice of worry still niggling at her deep inside. Spock rose gracefully to his feet and walked away to be lost in the tall trees that led to their camp. Christine continued to sit by the fire, watching Sapel run along the beach, picking up shells.

"Sapel!" she called. "Don't get in the water! It's too cold today!"

"Okay, Mama," he called back and took off chasing one of the little crab-like creatures that inhabited the shoreline and tide pools.

He was growing so fast, Christine mused. Although he hadn't officially reached his third birthday, as the years were reckoned here on Terra Two, his development was nearer that of a four year old, his genetic maturation governed by the time cycles of other planets. Moreover, his Vulcan heritage accelerated even that growth.

On any of the Federation worlds, he would be in school by now and Christine realized that Sapel was growing up completely illiterate. She decided to make that project high on her list of things to do once the cabin was finished and they could settle in. She'd have to find something to serve as paper and ink, but that shouldn't be hard. The difficult part would be reading material. The only book they had in their possession was the dog-eared military survival manual that had been left by the Romulans that had stranded them here. Obviously Spock and Christine had not been expected to be able to use it, but Spock had laboriously translated the text and they had consulted it until they had deciphered its chapters.

That wouldn't do for a beginning reader. Christine decided that while Sapel learned his letters, she would write down everything she could remember — children's stories, passages from the Bible, poems, whatever came to mind in order to teach Sapel to read and write. And Spock could teach him science and math. They'd both educate him on the histories of Vulcan and Earth, so that he would know where he came from and what both his peoples — Vulcan and Human — were like.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Sapel's excited cries. "Mama! Mama! Look!!" He was pointing out to sea.

She got up and went to him. "What do you see out there?"

"Look at the fishies!"

She squinted and saw what had attracted his attention. About a half a mile out, the sea was virtually boiling with small silvery fish jumping frantically out of the water. There were hundreds of them, probably thousands. It was obvious that they were desperately trying to get away from something.

That something abruptly surfaced as dolphin-like creatures exploded out of the water, their gaping jaws snapping and gulping the little fish before they all crashed back with a splash of white water. It happened again and again, and then the ocean surface stilled once more.

"Mama! Did you see that?!" Sapel demanded, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Indeed I did! We'll really have something to tell Papa, won't we?" She wondered what sort of creatures the big ones were — fish or dolphins or maybe even something like ichthyosaurs. All were similar in shape and habits, but there was no way of knowing. It could be something entirely different, for this was a whole other ocean than the ones she knew.

The show now over, she said, "Well, come on. Mama's got to get back to work. We've got to get our house finished!"

"I wanna stay here!"

"You can't stay here by yourself, Sapel. You know that."

"But I'm not through finding stuff," the boy protested.

"Tell you what. If Papa is agreeable, we'll come back this evening and have a real cookout on the beach. How's that?"

That suited Sapel just fine and he followed his mother back up the hillside to their camp. Neither saw the ocean foam once more and a long, thin neck rise far above it, one of the dolphin creatures flailing between its long-fanged jaws.

* * *

His arms folded across his chest, Spock stepped back to stand beside his wife and son and critically appraised their finished cabin. After a moment, he sighed, "Well, it will have to do."

The low roof slanted off to either side of the center beam, the rough wood of its logs making it almost seem to grow out of the hillside that towered above it. The rock overhang from which it had been built blended into the overall design, and the stone chimney that rose from this side was made primarily from the same dark rock, seeming to merge back into the mountain. A thin stream of white smoke drifted away from the opening at the top, drawing from the hearth and fireplace. A split-rail door swung open from tough rawhide hinges cut from their bullhide tent. There were no windows ... yet. Perhaps they would cut one later, but for now, the cabin was as snug and weatherproof as they could make it.

"I think it's the most beautiful house I've ever seen!" Christine smiled proudly, slipping her arm around his waist and stretching up to kiss his cheek. "You have amazed me once again, husband of mine! I don't think there's any problem you can't solve when you put your mind to it!"

Spock didn't answer or look at her, but she could feel his pleasure at her approval. However, he answered quietly, "If I were as clever as you seem to think, I would have us home by now."

"We are home, my love," she whispered, giving him a squeeze so that he looked down into her warm blue eyes, just a hint of moisture shining in them. "As long as we are together ... we are home." Spock smiled and leaned down to touch his lips softly to hers.

Sapel had endured all that his juvenile tolerance was capable of enduring. "Can we eat now?" he complained. "I wanna go down to the beach again. You said we would."

Christine laughed and hugged him. "I did indeed. What do you say, Papa? Shall we celebrate with a clam bake on the beach?"

"I feel that there is cause for celebration," Spock agreed, "although I cannot guarantee that I will dine on clams with you."

"We'll find something. Come on."

It was nearly sundown as they settled onto the sand, far up from the wash of the waves. Spock built up the driftwood fire and got the coals just right while Christine and Sapel ranged down the beach. The tide was out and they had long ago located tide pools where bivalve mollusks were exposed. Now they waded out into the ankle deep water, both exclaiming as the cold hit their bare feet, and bent to quickly harvest the shelled creatures and toss them into a basket they had brought.

Spock watched his wife and son laugh and hurry back to the sand, then move farther down the shore to the next pool. He thought back to a memory from his childhood, when he was Sapel's age and he and his own mother had run along the beach of a quite different ocean.

He wondered if Sarek had watched them as Spock was doing now with his family, and if Sarek had felt the tug of wistfulness deep inside at the son he never expected to have, the wistfulness that Spock felt when he watched Sapel and the magic came home to him that this was _his_ son, _his_ child. He still found it unbelievable that this remarkable little being was a part of him and the woman he now loved with all his heart.

 _Will you ever know him?_ Spock thought, mentally addressing his own father. _Will you ever know that you have a grandson? Or do you think that you no longer even have a son? That I am dead? Lost to you forever? Do you even care?_

That last thought sent a stab of pain into Spock's soul. Surely there would be some regret in Sarek that his son was gone now, believed dead. Amanda would be grieving still; Spock was certain of that. Or had the grief killed her by now? The memory of his mother's soft Human face and depthless blue eyes was suddenly too much to bear. Spock closed his eyes and willed the sadness to leave him. Memory was all he had of her now, for it was unlikely that he would ever see her again.

 _Mother_ , he thought, projecting himself outward, sending her the knowledge that he was alive and well. Whether it would ever touch her mind he could not know. He could only hope that, in some way, it would reach and comfort her.

Voices brought him back to the present and he looked up to find Christine and Sapel coming back, their basket brimming with shellfish and other edibles. Spock felt his heart lift once more and he banished the melancholy into the recesses of his soul.

* * *

"Sure you don't want any more?" Christine asked, her face painted golden by the flickering of the firelight. "It's too late to give them their freedom!"

"I am certain," Spock responded. He had found himself enjoying the fire-roasted seafood and sea plants that they had cooked on the beach and had eaten more than he had thought possible.

"Sapel?" Christine prodded.

"I'm stuffed!" the boy declared, lying back on the hide they had spread on the sand. "That was good, Mama!"

"Okay, that was last call. They'll be tough as leather tomorrow so any leftovers get tossed to the fishes!"

Spock had stretched out beside his son and Christine joined him. It was a beautifully clear night, dark and as yet moonless, and the three lay gazing up into the star strewn heavens stretching above them. The rain that had come through a week or so before had left the atmosphere as clear as glass and the multitudes of stars above them shown with unusual clarity.

"Papa?" Sapel asked softly. "Where do you come from?"

"Vulcan," Spock answered.

"No, I mean up there." The boy pointed skyward.

"You cannot see it from here."

"Where's your star, Mama?"

"You can't see it either, Sapel," she replied, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice.

"Why not?"

"It's too far away. You couldn't see it anyway. It's too faint."

"You mean it doesn't have any light?"

"No, Sapel," Spock replied, answering for his wife. "Your mother is from a planet called Earth, which orbits a star called Sol. From Earth, it is a sun just like the one we see here, but we are so very, very far away from it that you simply cannot see it. My planet, Vulcan, orbits a star that we call Las'hark. Like Sol, it is too far away for us to see it here on this planet."

Sapel pondered that. "Do all those stars have planets around them?"

"Many of them do. Not all. And not all can support life. But there are many, many planets with people living on them."

"Why don't they come visit us, Papa?" the boy wondered.

"I do not know, Sapel," Spock replied quietly. "I think it is because this star and this planet are so very far away that no one knows we are here."

"But the bad men who brought you here know," the boy reasoned.

"We don't want _them_ to come back, sweetie," Christine told him. "They wanted your Papa and me to be all alone here. They wanted to be mean to us."

"They didn't know you'd have _me_ , did they?" he asked, turning his open gaze on her face.

Christine smiled and stroked his dark hair. "No, baby, they didn't think we could live here. They sure didn't know that Papa and I would learn to find food and a place to live and finally have such a special little boy to keep us company."

"Mama? Are you still sad about the other baby you tried to have?"

Christine heard the immediate little sound of inhalation as Spock caught his breath at the question. Her own throat had seized up and she fought down tears but she answered her son honestly. "Yes, sweetheart, I'll always be sad. But life keeps going on and you can't stop going with it. I wish I had been able to have that baby, but it just didn't happen."

"Will you have any other babies?"

Christine brought her eyes up to meet Spock's. He was staring at her with pain clear in his gaze, waiting to hear what she would say. She looked back down at Sapel and smiled. "I don't know. Maybe one of these days I will, but we'll just have to wait and see."

"You'll tell Papa if you do, won't you?" Sapel asked innocently.

Christine couldn't stifle a delighted little laugh and bent to kiss her son's forehead. "Oh, I think Papa will know about it. He's pretty good at figuring out things like that. I wouldn't worry about that!"

Sapel yawned hugely and Spock changed the subject. "At the moment, however, I believe that it is time we went back to our new house and spent our first official evening there."

"Outstanding idea!" Christine seconded. "It's getting too cold to stay out here on the beach."

"Carry me, Papa?" Sapel asked as Spock got to his feet.

"Very well, but you are getting much too grown up for this." Spock squatted down and allowed his son to climb onto his back, slipping his little arms around his father's neck. As Spock stood, Christine got up as well and then bent to retrieve the hide they had been using as a blanket. Shaking it clean, she then kicked sand onto the fire and knocked the remains of their supper down closer to the waves. Almost immediately the little crab creatures scuttled out of their holes and pounced on the unexpected meal.

Then she turned and followed Spock up the path toward their home.

* * *

Christine stood outside of the cabin door while Spock settled Sapel into his bed inside. He had asked her to wait for him and now she bided her time enjoying the cool night. From here she could see the ocean through the trees. Terra Two's three small moons had risen now and their yellow light reflected softly off the endless waves whispering into shore a half-mile away.

Far out to sea, something very large seemed to surface and then submerge again. That caught her attention. It was too distant and too dark for her to see what it was, but she wondered if it might have been a whale. That would be nice, she thought.

Whales were such beautiful creatures. Then she shook her head, remembering where she was. It was extremely dubious that it was a whale, but there were undoubtedly creatures like that living in this ocean ... but again she didn't know what they might be. They'd just have to keep an eye out and hope to spot it again.

Behind her, she heard Spock step out through the doorway and come up behind her, then he slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her hair. "He is asleep. Shall we retire as well, my wife?"

Leaning back into the comforting warmth of his body, she smiled and murmured, "That sounds wonderful."

She turned to go inside but he said, "Wait." Halting, she started to turn but was then surprised when Spock suddenly swept her up into his arms.

"I understand that there is an old Earth custom I should observe," he said, smiling secretively. "I believe I am supposed to carry my bride across the threshold of our new home."

Surprise gave way to delight and Christine laughed and captured his mouth with hers, kissing him long and warmly. When their lips parted, he stepped through the doorway into the close darkness of the cabin and set her back onto her feet on the other side, pausing to shut the door and secure it. Then he turned back to his wife and they moved to their bedside.

The only light inside came from the flickering hearth fire and it limned his features in gold and copper highlights, accentuating the angles and planes of his face. Carefully, she began to unlace his tunic, until he could pull it over his head, leaving him bare from the waist up. She let her fingers roam over him, examining him as if for the first time, trailing over the hard muscles of his arms, slipping through the crisp dark hair of his sculptured chest, up over his collarbone to his jawline. His neat dark beard was soft beneath her fingers and her hands slipped up underneath his long black hair to tease along the edges of his ears.

He pulled her against him and brought his lips down on hers, his tongue pushing gently between her parted lips until it found her own. They stood for some time, locked in their embrace, probing and playing with sensual oral explorations as their passion began to heat up. Finally, he reached to unlace her tunic and push it from her shoulders, baring her full breasts and then shoving it down her hips.

Her breeches and loin cloth came down with it and finally he took her shoulders and pushed her down onto the furs, following her with his own body. Quickly, but without unduly hurried movements, he pulled off her moccasins and drew the pants and other coverings away, leaving her naked, her smooth skin ruddy and inviting in the firelight.

Spock lay beside her, pulling her into his arms, kissing her and loving the feel of her taut nipples rubbing against the hair of his chest. The fact that she was gloriously naked against him and he was still partially clothed excited him and he felt his growing erection strain to burst free of the leather breechclout that contained it.

Christine felt his arousal as well and teased him by moving one leg over his thigh and rubbing herself against him. He moved one broad hand down to her buttocks and grasped her cheek, pulling her against him for a moment. Then he rolled her over a bit more onto her back and his hand slid down underneath her thigh, pulling her leg up to allow him access. Reaching, his fingertips brushed against the swollen folds there and she wriggled with pleasure.

The position was awkward and he withdrew his hand and pushed her flatter, rearranging his position to slide his hand between her legs from the front. Readily, she opened to receive him and he deftly worked his long fingers into and around the intriguing mounds and valleys he found there, all the while maintaining the mischievous oral play between her tongue and his.

Christine twitched involuntarily and moaned against his mouth as the throbbing between her legs began to increase with his manipulations. He shifted, moving down to engulf one of her nipples, sucking as much as he could into his mouth and working it with his tongue. Writhing, she laced her fingers into his hair, encouraging him to remain there.

In response, he suddenly slipped his middle finger up inside her and pumped it in and out of her hot passage. Her breath sucked in with a gasp as her back arched, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from uttering the cry of pleasure that wanted to burst free. Still, the ecstasy she was experiencing translated itself through their mindbond and flowed through Spock like a wave of fire. He had to pause for a few seconds until her orgasm passed, lest he follow her too soon.

When her peak had calmed once more, he pulled his hand free of its wonderful ministrations and once more raised himself to face her, reclaiming her mouth. Wriggling a bit, she slid one hand down his stomach and to the side of his loin cloth, pulling it open a bit. Reaching beneath the leather strip, she felt the crisp hair of his groin and then her fingers closed around the shaft of his erection, firm and full in her grasp. She drew it clear of the loin cloth and felt Spock's pulse of excitement as she exposed him.

As their tongues fenced, she began to stroke him, sliding her fist up the satiny length to the ridges just underneath the head, then back down again. She did this a dozen times, reveling in the way he hardened even more with each stroke. Then she changed her tactics and moved her fingertips to gently massage the soft, moist tip. She felt slick wetness appear there and used it to lubricate her movements, sliding the flats of her fingers around and around the most sensitive part of his anatomy.

With an almost pained gasp, he abruptly reached down and caught her wrist. "No," he whispered, barely audible. "You will make me ejaculate. Not yet. Not until I am inside you."

He used the break in their foreplay to rid himself of his remaining clothing, then rolled back to her, pulling her against him, their full lengths now coming together, hot dry Vulcan skin pressed against warm, moist Human skin. It was enough to ensure that neither wanted to wait any longer.

He pressed her back and moved atop her, between her eagerly spread legs, and dipped his hips to hers, feeling his hard heat engage into its proper place at her beckoning portal. He pushed gently but firmly and was suddenly within her, her body like a heated glove gripping and caressing the entire length of his erection. He held still for a few seconds, the sensation of entry bouncing back and forth between them, each feeling what the other felt, the solidity and intense heat of the one, the moisture and grip of the other.

Then he began to move, intensifying that feeling, stimulating them both until it became nearly unbearable. He buried his face against her shoulder and stepped up his pace, while she opened even farther beneath him, welcoming him, encouraging him, her hands going down to clasp his tense buttocks.

Then she both felt and heard him moan into her hair and the next instant he was gripping her tightly, his erection throbbing over and over as he came deep inside her. She was already there, thrusting her pelvis hard against his, wanting him deeper, harder, hotter within her as she pulsated in tune with his primal rhythm.

Finally, an eternity later, she felt him relax and she went limp as well, holding him close to her, not even noticing his weight atop her. She loved feeling him sated and tender in her arms, sleepy and gentle after lovemaking. It was when his defenses were most dissolved, his walls down, and she knew the vulnerable, caring man she loved so well.

He hefted himself up and rolled off her onto his back, his naked body picked out with bronze highlights in the fire's waning glow. The hair on his body glistened faintly with her sweat and his still slightly erect penis shone with the wetness of their combined orgasms. He was so beautiful that it nearly took her breath away, and she raised herself on one elbow simply to look at him.

Her admiration and adoration radiated out through their bond and he opened his dark eyes to look up at her, his expression soft and unguarded. He reached for her again and she came into his arms, lowering her lips to meet his in a long, lingering kiss. But he was yet too spent to begin another session of lovemaking so soon, and finally simply pulled her down so that her head rested on his shoulder and he held her close with one arm.

She let her hand rest in the hollow of his chest, where his heart would be if he were Human, and softly played her fingertips through the dark, wiry hair there. She lay just listening to him breathe, riding the gentle rise and fall of his chest underneath her, and moved her hand down to the base of his rib cage where she could feel his heart beating. It tripped along at twice the speed of a Human heart, something that would have alarmed her had she not been familiar with Vulcan physiology. But she knew that he lay relaxed and drowsy, his efficient body doing its job with no fuss or unnecessary expense.

He brought his hand up to stroke her hair and spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper, "There is something I need to ask you, _t'hy'la_."

"What?"

"I hesitate, because I do not know how you feel about this... but I think that we ought to discuss it." He was silent for a long moment, then asked, "What are your feelings regarding another child?"

She raised up to look at him in the dark, trying to gauge his own feelings. The emotions she received through their bond were confused, guarded, and she gained nothing by studying his expression. "I don't know..." she answered finally. "What do you think we should do? What do you want?"

He swallowed. "I would like to hear your feelings first."

She looked down, not sure how she should answer then decided that she must be honest with him, for he would detect any deceit through the corridor of their bond. Bringing her gaze back up to him, she answered, "I'm of mixed emotions, Spock. If we were living under normal circumstances, I would say that I want your children more than anything under the sun. Sapel is the most precious thing in my life. I was upset when I became pregnant the second time, but then I wanted that baby so much, too."

Her eyes glistened in the firelight. "I'll always wonder what he would have been like, what sort of person he would have grown up to be." She gulped and he reached to caress her face with one hand. Gaining control of herself, she looked back at him. "I love you, Spock, and I can't think of anything I would rather do than make babies with you ... but ... I'm afraid!" Her eyes did fill then and they spilled over despite her attempt to stop them. She hastily wiped them away. "I'm sorry. I'm just so afraid of being pregnant and giving birth here in this wilderness, with no help if we need it. I'm afraid of dying in childbirth. I'm afraid of losing another baby like we did. I'm afraid of having children and trying to keep them alive and finding enough food. I'm afraid of what would happen if you died and I were left to take care of myself and little children. Or if I were pregnant and having to cope..."

He pulled her back down into his arms and held her close, allowing her to acknowledge and express her justifiable fears.

When she had quieted, he continued to hold her and said softly, "I did not mean for you to think that I was pressing you for another child, _t'hy'la_. On the contrary, I agree with everything you have said. Sapel's birth was the result of my _pon farr_ and the other child completely a miscalculation on both our parts. I too grieve at his loss but I concur that it is quite difficult enough to provide for the three of us. I hope I would not be so selfish as to insist that you undergo such an ordeal again and again simply to prove my virility."

She smiled and sniffed back her tears. "You don't have to get me pregnant to prove that! You sure wouldn't get any arguments from me that you are a full-fledged, healthy, completely functional man!" She laughed quietly then sobered a bit. "But if it should happen again..."

"Then we will greet and accept our child with open arms, as we would have done with Soran."

"Soran?" She lifted her head to look at him. "Why are you calling him that?"

Spock let his gaze fall and his expression became introspective. "I don't know. I simply know that this is who he would have been. Perhaps the Ancestors have told me this. In any case, I have grown accustomed to thinking of him by that name."

Christine nodded and laid her head back on Spock's chest. "Okay. It seems right to me, too. He was a person ... or would have been. He deserves a name." She was silent and then whispered, "Soran..." and Spock felt a hot tear drop from her cheek onto his skin.

He continued quietly, "There is something else you must consider, Christine. It will not be many years ... perhaps two or three ... until I will undergo _pon farr_ again. You are almost certain to become pregnant again when I do, as you did with Sapel."

"Then I'll expect it and be ready for it," she answered. "Meanwhile ... I think we should continue to practice as much birth control as we can, watching my cycle every month, but if I should get pregnant again ... then I'll be glad about it and I will love it all the more because it's your child I'm carrying, my darling."

He touched his fingertips to her chin and lifted her face toward him and kissed her with all that he felt for her flowing through his lips and their bond. Her arms slipped around him as she returned it, and in the midst of the kiss, their bodies stirred in hunger for one another yet again, and all their thoughts turned to the means of sating that desire.

* * *

Christine had been uneasy all day, needing to be doing something, but distracted with watching for Spock and Sapel's return. That something was wrong, she was certain. Exactly what, she didn't know. She had felt a sharp, bright stab of pain through their bond and then Spock had blocked her, shutting her out of his mind. She could only feel a vague sense of pain and frustration from him, but other than that, she had no idea what had happened.

Spock had gone to hunt at dawn and had decided to take Sapel with him. The boy was old enough to learn how and Spock did not plan anything long and strenuous for this day's hunt. The marsh was full of wintering water fowl, fat and lazy, spending their time squabbling among themselves and feeding on the roots and underwater shoots of plants that grew thick around the estuary to the east. It should be fairly easy to snare a brace of fowl and it would be a good first hunt for Sapel.

Christine had seen them off in the early morning fog. It rolled in daily from the sea, where warm ocean current met cold dry air and offshore breezes pushed the resulting condensation up onto the land and into the trees. It made her think of San Francisco and sometimes she could half‑close her eyes and peer through the tall trees toward the sea and almost make out a big red bridge spanning the straits. Those times made her especially wistful and sent a particularly strong pulse of sadness through her heart, for she knew now, after four years, that this would likely be her home for the rest of her life.

The fog had burned off by noon and she had continued the work she was doing, still keeping an eye out for her husband and son. She was hard at work on a chair leg, smoothing and sanding it into shape. Not long after their home was finished, she had decided that the cabin needed furniture. It was one thing to sit on a dirt floor when one lived in a cave. It didn't seem appropriate when one lived in a house. Spock had agreed and turned his agile mind to that pursuit.

Thus, as the winter had worn monotonously on, they had divided their time between beginning to teach Sapel his letters, both English and Vulcan, and learning to make simple furniture. The first item in their house had been a table, a wide rock slab settled into low stone blocks. It had been a fortuitous find. They had been searching for something that would serve as a slate and for limestone that could be used as chalk.

They found both high in the hills that marched back to the west of their camp ... and they also found this slab of limestone, big enough and flat enough that it would make an ideal tabletop. The problem of getting it to their cabin without breaking it took them nearly two weeks, but it was finally installed before the fireplace and became the focal point of the room.

They still sat cross-legged on the packed sand floor with hides spread like rugs, but now they used the table for nearly everything, from eating to Sapel's school desk to food preparation to tool making. But, even though the large rendered-oil lamp that sat in its center spread its golden light to nearly every corner, the windowless cabin was still very dark and they did much of their work outdoors.

The acquisition of their table, however, made Christine think about other furnishings and she decided that what she really missed was a chair to sit in. It didn't have to be fancy, but the thought of something that most of the residents of the galaxy took for granted made her decidedly nostalgic for their lost way of life.

A couple of days later she had found Spock sitting on a tree stump, studying an assortment of branches and cut saplings, matching and analyzing the sturdiness of various candidates. "What are you doing?" she asked him, puzzled.

"Building you a chair," he responded and glanced up at her with the good-natured twinkle in his dark eyes that she had grown to know so well.

They had launched into the project together and she had become adept at whittling, carving, and sanding down the rough wood into pieces that would eventually be put together. Their first attempt wasn't very good and they tore it apart to start over.

The next was better but still not what they wanted. The third however, proved the charm, and now sitting beside the hearth was a very serviceable slat-back chair with a carved wooden seat and pegged rungs adding strength to the legs.

Most days, Christine moved it outside and sat on her "porch," doing her work. Currently, she was making a chair for Spock and planned one for Sapel after that. It was slow going, for each section had to be hand-crafted, but it made her feel good to see it develop slowly.

Today, however, she was distracted and worried, for it was late afternoon and the hunters had still not come. She was torn between going in search of them or waiting for their return. If Spock was in real need of help, he would not have blocked their mindbond but would have called to her. Since he had chosen to do so, she reasoned that he meant for her to stay put. Her hands trembling a little as she smoothed the wood she was working with a whetstone, she made herself wait.

"Mama! Mama!"

Christine vaulted to her feet, dropping her work, as Sapel came pounding up the trail from the hot springs, his hair disheveled and his face flushed. She ran to meet him.

"Mama! Come quick! Papa's hurt!" the boy shouted as he leaped into her arms. She didn't wait to find out the details, but set Sapel quickly back onto his feet and hurried down the path, her son hard on her heels.

She was nearly out of breath when she burst into the clearing and found Spock sitting on the edge of the warm pool, his right foot immersed to the shin in the hot water.

"Spock! What's wrong?! What happened?!"

He looked up at her, his brows bunched together and his face hard with pain and anger. "I suffered a foolish accident," he answered in a stony voice. "I slipped and injured my ankle."

"Let me see," she ordered him, the nurse in her taking charge.

Spock drew his bare foot from the water, his breeches shoved up to the knee, and Christine bent to examine it. His ankle and foot were grossly swollen, already black and muddy green, and looked to get worse before it got better. Gingerly, she felt and prodded and turned his foot a little one way and then the other. Spock sucked in his breath and clenched his teeth, but otherwise did not move.

At last, Christine sat back on her heels. "I don't believe it's broken, although there might be a hairline fracture. I think it's just badly sprained. When did this happen?"

"Earlier this morning. We were coming back from the marsh and my foot slipped off a rock in the streambed." He looked disgruntled. "Had I been paying attention, this never would have happened."

"You blocked me, didn't you?" she asked accusingly. "Why?"

"There was no reason to alarm you," he responded.

"Did it ever occur to you that blocking me alarmed me more than _this_ would?" She locked her clear blue eyes onto his deep brown ones and held them there.

He had the grace to fidget a bit. "I did not wish you to worry," he repeated lamely.

"Well, I did. So, don't do it again. Here, you sit and soak your foot in that hot water while I go back up to the cabin. I'm going to need to wrap that and I have a piece of leather I can cut into a bandage." She stood up and started back up the trail, muttering, "You pea brain! It's your _head_ you ought to be soaking! Blocking me..."

When she had disappeared into the trees, Sapel turned to his father and asked, "Why's Mama so mad?"

"Illogical as it may sound, _cha'i_ , she is not angry. Not totally, in any case. She is actually quite happy and relieved."

Sapel looked back in the direction his mother had taken and then returned to peering at his father. "Huh?"

Spock sighed. "Your mother is Human, Sapel, and a woman. I am afraid that you will never find either one of those two categories to possess an abundance of logic. In my experience, it is best to simply wait her out and allow her to regain her usual good humor in her own good time."

"We better not tell her what else we found, huh?"

"Not at present," Spock answered. "She is frightened at the moment because of my injury and her worries and this might only serve to compound her fears. We will tell her later, when she is better able to assimilate it."

"Okay, Papa," the boy replied.

"Meanwhile, why don't you begin to pluck those waterbirds we brought back. And use my cloak to catch the feathers. I believe your mother might enjoy a feather-filled pillow if we can get enough of them."

* * *

With Spock laid up and unable to hunt, Christine took up those duties, leaving the household chores, furniture making and school teaching in Spock's hands. They had been able to salvage enough feathers and down to make a small pillow but it was used as a cushion for his swollen and painful ankle. She didn't mind. The number of wintering birds was enormous and figured prominently in their meals now. The birds were feeding voraciously in order to gain energy for their return flight north in the spring and were easy prey. She was a little awkward at first and not the archer Spock had become, but Christine had soon mastered the bow with enough adeptness to bring home a catch whenever she went to hunt. Sapel sometimes went with her.

When Spock was better and could get around with the crutch he had fashioned, he began to go down to the beach and collect shellfish at low tide, but he always did this while Christine and Sapel were away. Moreover, whenever she suggested a repeat of their clam bake, he balked, saying he was too tired or did not feel up to making the journey down the hill again. It puzzled Christine, but she shrugged it off as an eccentricity brought on by his injury and being curtailed from his usual wide roaming trips to hunt.

It was late winter, almost spring, here in the south and the days were growing warm again. New leaves began to appear on the deciduous trees in the forest and fresh mint-green needles pushed through the older, darker ones on the pines. Deep in the woods, bright white and red candy‑striped flowers shoved their way up through the leaf litter, the first blooms of the new year. Everywhere was the almost-there freshness of the raw beginnings of the new season.

The water fowl on the eastern marsh began to thin out and after a week or so, they were all gone, returning north to their breeding grounds. But in their place, on the cliffs far down the beach to the west, other birds began to appear. These were coming in over the southern ocean to their own nesting grounds on the cliffs and were noisy, raucous birds akin to gulls and skuas.

Christine didn't mind, though, because something told her that fresh eggs would soon be available if she could scale those cliff faces.

It was about four weeks since Spock had hurt his ankle and he was beginning to get around on it quite well now, though he still kept his crutch handy, for the injured joint tended to tire and fail at inopportune moments. On this morning, Christine was thinking about those eggs and was determined to make a reconnaissance trip to the cliffs.

"Christine, it is too early for the sea birds to be laying," Spock stated, standing by the door, supported by his crutch.

"I just want to check," she insisted, getting her gear together. "There might be some early breeders."

"I do not think it is a wise idea to go there," he insisted.

"I'm just going to look. I'll be back by lunchtime." She settled the strap of a carry bag over her head and seated it onto her shoulder.

"Christine, do not go there," he said rather forcefully. "It is too dangerous."

Caught by the urgency and command in his voice, she looked up at him and locked gazes, trying to puzzle out what the problem was. "What do you think is dangerous, Spock? Climbing the rocks?"

"Yes," he answered, apparent relief in his manner that she'd answered her own question.

"It's not that steep," she pressed, still evaluating him. "I won't go very high."

"You could be hurt, nevertheless." The subtle urgency was back in this voice and she paused to study his face.

"What are you afraid of, Spock?" she demanded softly, her eyes still locked on his.

His jawline tightened but he didn't answer. Christine's eyes narrowed and suddenly she had the same look on her face that had so often appeared on James Kirk's when Spock was trying to keep him from doing something. It nearly always had the opposite effect on the Captain, though, pushing him into performing exactly the action that Spock was attempting to prevent and now Christine stepped forward, her blue eyes filled with suspicion.

"I think we should go see what you're afraid of," she murmured and started to go through the doorway.

Spock put out a hand and stopped her. "I do not want you or Sapel to go to the beach area," he said, his voice rough. "I do not believe it is safe there."

"We've been to the beach lots of times, Spock," she argued. "We've never had any trouble. What are you talking about?"

He was silent for a moment then responded, "The day I was hurt, Sapel and I found something on the beach on the other side of the marsh that alarmed me. There were a number of dolphin-like animals dead on the sand, as if they had grounded themselves."

"Well?" she answered. "Whales and dolphins have been known to beach themselves for a lot of reasons. A storm at sea ... an echo location mistake ... lots of things."

His eyes were grave, his dark brows bunched together in a frown. "These had the look of being driven onto the beach. Herded there where they were helpless. Many of them were partially eaten."

Her heart was beginning to beat faster, but she attempted to minimize her growing fears. "Oh, surely you're mistaken, Spock. The crabs must've just gotten to them. Or maybe they were killed in the ocean and just washed up."

"Christine, there were tracks in the sand all around them," he stated emphatically, his gaze boring into her. "Something huge had come out of the water onto the beach and eaten them. I was attempting to get Sapel back to safety when I slipped and sprained my ankle. It's why I do not want you or him to go to the beach again."

She stood staring at him, her blue eyes uncertain. The image of the thing she'd seen that night far out to sea, the thing she thought was a whale, popped into her mind. "Why in God's name didn't you tell me this before?" she whispered.

He looked down, uncomfortable. "Because I was afraid that you would demand that we leave here at once—"

"You're damn right I would have!"

"—and I do not wish to leave! Not after all the work we have put in here."

"But if there's some sort of huge predator here—"

"There are predators everywhere!" he interrupted her hotly. "No matter where we go, there will be predators!"

She glared wild-eyed at him, her face flushed with anger. Finally, she said, "Spock, this is just about the most ludicrous conversation I've ever had with you! Will you make sense?!"

He turned away, hobbling toward the fire, his back stiff. After he had plopped down in their one chair, he refused to look at her, staring instead into the hearth. She came over to stand beside him, demanding his attention, fists propped on her hips.

"I don't know what I mean," he answered finally, sighing deeply in disgust. "I have been at war with myself ever since that day, attempting to protect you and Sapel from harm but unable to do so because of this ankle. And my immediate instinct was to move us all to safety, but then I realized there is no safety here on this planet. No matter where we go, there is danger."

Her stance and her expression softened a bit. "Yes. There is that, all right. Why do you think Tal left us here? Because he thought we'd both be eaten by a bear within a week! But we haven't been. We've made it through four years and we're doing just fine. Good God, Spock, I know there are things out there that will kill us at the drop of a hat. I'm not an idiot! You shouldn't have kept this from me. I might have gone down to the beach anyway and gotten eaten because I didn't know any better!"

"I know," he said in a shamed voice, barely audible. "I'm sorry, Christine. _You_ are not an idiot. _I_ am."

She slipped her hand along his shoulders and gently massaged him. "Yes, you are an idiot, my darling. A sweet, caring, brave, and very normal idiot. You made a bad decision. Okay, it's rectified. We'll know to watch out for sea monsters now."

He sighed softly again, still refusing to look at her. "I wonder sometimes how you live with me."

That brought a broad grin to her face. "Well, frankly, my dear, I don't have a lot of choice in the matter!" He looked up sharply at that and she laughed and hugged him. "Don't worry about it. And I still intend to go egg hunting. Why don't you come and stand guard? Just in case the Loch Ness Monster decides to invite us over for lunch?!"

* * *

Christine slapped at the tiny insect that had settled on her bare arm and muttered, "Darn these mosquitos! They're eating me alive!" Then she went back to massaging Spock's shoulder blades. On the other side of the hot pool, Sapel was chin deep in the water and would periodically submerge completely, staying under water until he couldn't hold his breath any longer, then he would surface enough to breathe before repeating his performance.

He looked ready to duck under again. "Sapel, what in the name of peace are you doing?" his mother asked, irritated.

"The bugs are biting me, Mama," he explained.

"The bugs are biting me, too," she muttered, slapping as another landed on her forearm. "But not your father."

Spock was waist deep in the hot water, soaking his ankle as he did most every evening. "They are biting me as well," he interjected, waving away a humming insect. "I do not believe they have a marked preference for blood color."

Christine was sitting behind him on the bank, his back resting between her spread legs, and she was working a stubborn knot out of his right shoulder. He had insisted on bringing in some seasoned wood for their furniture project that morning, but his still sore ankle had thrown him off balance and he'd strained a muscle.

Sapel went under again to escape the buzzing insects. Christine saw a mosquito land on Spock's back and gave it a sharp whack before she thought about what she was doing.

"Ow!" Spock jerked away, caught by surprise.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry!"

He shrugged out from under her hands. "I believe that is enough massage," he said, flexing his shoulder. "Thank you."

Sapel came up once more, his shaggy black hair plastered like a shining cap over his face. He shoved it out of his eyes and said piteously, "Can we go home? I don't like it here!"

"A meritorious suggestion!" Spock answered and stood up, reaching for his wrap. He wore an old loincloth and Christine was dressed in one of her leather dresses. They had decided that decorum was better served if they did not go naked when Sapel was with them at the pool, although the little boy swam and bathed unclothed. Christine hadn't gone in tonight, but only soaked her bare feet in the water as she worked on the knot in her husband's shoulder blade.

As the family scrambled back up the trail to their cabin, the swarms of flying insects seemed to descend on them _en masse_ , having appeared in colossal numbers over the past week or so. The steam from the hot spring kept them somewhat at bay, but in the open they zeroed in on Spock, Christine and Sapel by the dozens.

All three of them were covered with swollen, itchy bumps and Christine had devised a rather smelly ointment from pine resin, which not only served as a balm but an insect repellant. The only problem was that it was almost as repugnant to them as to the mosquitos. Now, as they hurried indoors, the first thing Spock did was snatch up a pine knot and shove one end of it into the fire in the hearth. It blazed up quickly, then after a few seconds, he blew out the flame, leaving a smoldering, smoking ember. This he placed in a stone dish on the table and let the acrid smoke waft throughout the cabin. It smelled terrible, but at least it drove the mosquitos out.

That done, they got ready for bed. Christine dried off Sapel and smeared some ointment onto his insect bites to take the sting away, then got him tucked into his sleeping furs. As she bent to kiss his forehead, he asked again, "Mama? Can we go home? I don't like it here!"

"We _are_ home, baby," she answered softly, but she understood all too well what he was asking.

"No, our other home," he responded.

She was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "I'll talk to Papa about it. You go to sleep now." She kissed him again and gave his covers a final pat, then she got up and went back to where Spock was sitting cross-legged on a hide spread by their table. He had changed into a dry loin cloth and his face was pensive in the glow of the firelight.

Christine settled beside him. "You heard him?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yes. I am beginning to have much the same thoughts," he responded in a murmur. "I did not anticipate that spring might bring an explosion of the insect population here. I should have, though. With the marsh, it is understandable that water breeding insects would find an ideal habitat here."

"It's what brings all the birds in, too. The whole food cycle is in full swing here," Christine answered soberly. "Fish feed on the mosquito larvae, birds feed on the adult mosquitos and fish, adult mosquitos feed on the blood of the birds. That's ultra simple, but it makes sense." She sighed. "Who knows what else the summer will bring? I have this horrible, crawly feeling that we're only seeing the tip of the proverbial iceberg, as far as insects go. I'm not sure I want to spend all summer like that."

Spock sighed. "Nor do I. In addition, the heat and humidity are growing daily. While I welcome the rise in temperature, the humidity is becoming increasingly bothersome to me. In the Valley, it is a drier heat and I am much more comfortable."

"Then let's get out of here," she pressed him. "This place is superb in the winter, but it's obviously not an ideal summer home. We can always come back in the fall when the herds move. We've got the cabin built now and we won't have to spend the whole winter breaking our backs like we did this year."

"Noted," he answered, staring into the fire. "Let's begin to get our things together and we can leave in a few days, providing the weather holds."

"What about your ankle?" she asked. "Are you sure you're up to walking that far on it?"

He shifted and brought his knee up so that his foot was flat on the floor. "I believe it is sufficiently healed," he answered, flexing his ankle a bit. "It still bothers me somewhat, but the healing process may take longer to fully complete than I am willing to allow. We shall travel at an easy pace."

"I'll bind it for you, too," she replied, her fingers manipulating the joint. "That will give you more support."

She found herself caressing his leg and foot, then looked up to find him peering into her face, his dark eyes deep and fathomless. "Right now, I suggest we go to bed, wife," he whispered. "We both need our rest for the journey."

She found herself grinning broadly at that remark. "Are you sure rest is uppermost on your mind right now?"

He shrugged slightly, a little smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Eventually. Meanwhile, this is a superb stress reliever."

He rose and pulled her to her feet, then led her across the room to their bed of soft furs.

* * *

They awoke the next morning to a faint cacophony filtering up from the beach. It sounded like a crowd of people jabbering and yelling at the top of the voices, punctuated frequently by sharp cries.

"What in creation is _that?!_ " Christine muttered.

"I do not know," Spock answered, as puzzled as she.

The racket woke Sapel, too, and he came sleepily to his parents' bed, rubbing his eyes. "Mama, somethin's makin' noise," he mumbled.

"I know, baby," she replied, cuddling him to her.

Spock rose and donned his breeches and loin-cloth, then caught up his spear and went to the door of the cabin, opening it cautiously. Doing so intensified the level of the disturbance. After listening for a moment, he said, "It seems to be coming from the beach. Stay here. I'm going to investigate."

He slipped out into the first, faint light of dawn, moving silently. As Christine waited tensely for his return, she drew her leather dress back on and pulled Sapel into her lap, rocking him against her breast.

Spock was back within a few minutes, a curious expression on his face. "Come and see this," he said.

Christine rose and set Sapel on his feet, then they followed Spock outside. Moving quietly down through the trees toward the beach, the three people approached the area where the noise had risen to a nearly deafening level. Now they could also detect a strong odor that was prevalent even above the tangy bite of the sea and the crisp scent of the pine forest.

Coming to the edge of the sand, Spock nodded in the direction of the cliffs and Christine gaped in amazement. Covering the beach were hundreds of animals, sleek and dark brown, the newly risen sun gleaming redly on their fur. Their feet were broad and paddle-like, and the larger ones, undoubtedly the males, sported wicked looking tusks. The noise was the combined voices of the colony — bulls, cows and calves — bleating and roaring, squealing and rumbling as they shuffled for position on the sand, crowding together and clambering over one another.

The tide was in and about half of the beach area was underwater, forcing the animals to crowd even closer. Now and then, individuals would waddle into the surf and dive forward to catch an outgoing wave, disappearing into the foam.

"They look like seals!" Christine exclaimed. "I had no idea there were animals like that here!"

"They must be migrating into the area," Spock answered. "I do not believe they have been anywhere in the area during the winter. Otherwise, we would have seen some sign of them before this."

"Wanna see, Papa!" Sapel cried, absolutely enthralled.

"All right. Come with me," Spock responded and took his son's hand, leading him farther down the beach.

"Don't get too close," Christine warned, following along a bit slower.

The beach narrowed to about thirty feet wide and a rocky intrusion forced Spock to move closer to the water. He avoided the waves reaching up onto the sand, for the water was still quite cold and he was barefoot. Sapel, however, pulled away and scampered ahead, laughing as the water rushed up to engulf his feet and ankles, then retreated back down the sand.

"Sapel, that's close enough," Spock warned. The boy stopped, still within reach of the surf.

The seal colony paid little attention to the people, although a massive old bull, swathed in sheets of fat, kept a wary eye on them. The seals all seemed to have their attention more or less centered on the sea. Not many of them were entering the water now, although a half dozen well‑grown calves still rode the waves, barking as they did so.

Without warning, the sea just off-shore exploded into a geyser of blood and gore and a young seal shot straight up out of the water, emitting a shriek of pure terror. In an eyeblink, it was followed by an elongated head on a long, slick neck, a slash of crimson and white evincing a mouth full of teeth. An instant later, the seal was seized by powerful jaws and jerked back underwater with a splash.

Simultaneously the seal colony erupted into an ear-splitting pandemonium and all of them stampeded farther up the beach, trampling one another in the process. Those nearest the water screeched the loudest and most frantically, for more heads and necks appeared, followed by thick, curved bodies, riding the incoming waves up onto the beach itself and snatching meals with ferocious efficiency.

Sapel screamed, too, out of surprise and fright, and turned to run back to his father.

He wasn't fast enough. The unnatural hump of water rushing onto the beach sand gave Spock a bare instant to react as the thing broke the surface tension and the gaping mouth lunged at the fleeing child. With a roar of terror and denial, Spock darted forward and brought his heavy hunting spear down with a two-handed crash on the beast's head, knocking the creature's snapping jaws off-target by a hair's-breadth. Blood spurted from Sapel's right heel as the teeth secured a scant purchase on the child's foot and the boy went sprawling onto the sand with a scream.

Christine was already running full tilt toward the battle and she reached Sapel and snatched him away just as the sea creature bellowed and jerked its head and long neck back, then whirled like a monstrous snake and bore down on the man before it.

Spock stabbed at it and caught it in the throat with the spear point, splitting the softer skin underneath its jaw. The beast roared again and once more pulled back, but this time it was dragging its entire body out of the water. The torso was thick and sleek, a humped black mound of muscle with four flippers and a short, stiff tail. Enraged, the creature lunged at Spock again, and he countered with another stab of the spear point.

"Christine, run!!" he shouted over his shoulder, not daring to risk a glance. "Run!!"

She was already nearly to the tree line, Sapel clutched desperately to her body. She turned back in horror as the monstrous animal struck again and Spock once more met the strike with a strong parry.

This time, his thrust hit the gaping mouth dead on and the spear lodged deep in the animal's throat. With a hair-raising screech, the beast hurtled backwards, yanking the spear out of Spock's hands, and began to shake its head madly in an effort to dislodge the thing caught in its throat.

Spock didn't waste time but saw his chance to escape. He turned and fled up the beach, the soft sand hampering his dash to safety. Christine reached out to him and caught his outstretched hand, giving him an extra impetus and the family ducked into the safety of the forest.

They didn't stop until they were back at their cabin. Below them, down on the beach, they could hear the carnage continuing. Sapel was crying hysterically, both out of hurt and fright, and Christine dropped to the ground with him still clinging to her in terror.

"It's okay, sweetie," she soothed, although her heart was pounding hard enough to burst. "It's okay. Let Mama see your foot." Sapel's cries rose in pitch but she continued, "It's okay. Mama won't hurt her baby. Let me see it."

Spock knelt down beside them, still breathing hard, and managed to get his little son's injured foot in a position so that it could be examined. There were several long, deep grooves along the sides, with the skin neatly peeled away, and a little chunk of flesh gone from the ball of his heel. It was bleeding profusely but didn't look too serious to Christine's eye.

The professional in her took charge, damping down her panic and urge to hide. "Spock, go down to the spring and get me a bucket of hot water so I can clean this. I've got to see what I have that I can put on it, then I'll bandage it."

He started to rise but she caught his arm and her fierce gaze caught and bored into his with an intensity he seldom saw there. "And then we're leaving here. _Today!_ "

"Understood, wife," he answered, for this had been the last straw. "I will be back in a few minutes."

He snatched up a stone bowl and loped off down the trail toward the hot spring, already thinking ahead to what he must do to get them packed and away from this place.

* * *

With a squelch, Spock's left foot came free of the sucking mud. As soon as he put it down ahead of him, it sank once more up to the ankle and he had to repeat the process all over again with his right one. Behind him, Christine was undergoing the same ordeal, only she was burdened by Sapel clinging to her neck. Spock's load was heavier, for he was packing the bulk of their supplies, but Christine had been carrying their son ever since they had left the cabin.

Sapel's foot was swollen and infected and the boy was too sick to walk on his own. He was strapped to his mother's back, covered by a water resistant hide in an attempt to keep the rain off him, but it was to little avail. All three of them were soaked.

He had cried and whimpered for most of the way, each arduous step jolting his foot painfully. Now, however, he merely clung weakly, his head resting on Christine's shoulder. She could feel the heat radiating from his cheek against her neck and knew that he was racked with fever, but there was nothing she could do except keep going and hope they reached a place soon where they could shelter.

They had been on the journey home for a week now and it had been raining for half that way. They were no more than 25 miles north of the sea and each mile they progressed seemed to get harder. The flood plain on either side of the river had turned into an ocean of mud and they had no hope of drier land until they reached the craggy hills directly before them. Christine blinked the rain out of her eyes and tried to estimate the distance. The hills only seemed to be a couple of miles away, but they never seemed to get any closer.

She put her head back down and kept pulling her sodden feet out of the mud, moving a step forward, and feeling them sink back into the mire. The afternoon light was wan and gray, alternately darkening and lightening a bit as the rain clouds thickened or dissipated, but the sun never shown through completely and there always seemed to be yet another downpour that opened upon the three weary travelers.

She had ceased to feel much except the necessity of taking another step ahead. There was a rumble of thunder and the rain pounded down in a heavy, dark sheet. On her back, Sapel stirred and whimpered again, the downpour adding a fresh little stab of misery and chill to the sick child. Christine would have cried with him if she'd had the energy, but it took all her concentration to keep going.

Gradually it dawned on her that she was making her way up a slight incline. Lifting her face, she could just make out Spock's figure ahead of her but, more than that, she saw that they were finally entering the hills and trees. As they climbed, the way became steeper and rockier. The mud gave way to exposed stone in many areas, but this did not ensure easier traveling. The wet pine litter under foot was slippery and treacherous and Christine narrowly avoided falling several times.

Her luck ran out at last and she went down on her left knee hard, making her cry out in pain. Ahead, Spock turned back around and made his way to her, awkwardly stooping to reach a hand to her in aid. He was overburdened by the large pack he carried and could only offer himself as an anchor as she got back to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" he asked her, rain dripping from the end of his nose and running in little rivulets from the corners of his moustache and tip of his beard.

"I'm okay ... I think." She flexed her knee. "That's going to be painful later, though." She let her gaze turn to the trees that disappeared away into the downpour. "Do you think there's _any_ place at all we might stop?"

He turned back to the way they had been heading. "I don't know. Surely there is someplace here in these rocks. We will keep alert for a cave or overhang. Come."

He started onward once more and she followed, ignoring her throbbing knee and trying to see through the rain.

Sapel stirred once more, moving restlessly on her back. "I'm cold, Mama," he said in a weak voice near her ear.

"I know you are, sweet baby," she answered, feeling her heart twist that she could give him no comfort. She reached back to touch his head, covered by the heavy wet hide. "We'll try to find someplace soon to spend the night."

It was all she could offer him and she looked up the trail to find that Spock had paused and was waiting for her to catch up. She struggled up the incline until she reached him and they both trudged on into the rain.

* * *

It wasn't much when they found it, hardly more than a deep crack in the limestone, cold and damp with a sloping floor that channeled the water away from a shelf a little higher up. Dirt had blown into the crack and it still lay thick on the shelf, miraculously dry in its protected niche. But it was out of the rain and they did not complain of the small comfort it bestowed.

There were dried leaves heaped against one wall and some sort of weed, long dead and like paper to the touch. It gave Spock an idea and he dumped his pack, going back out into the drizzle before Christine could question him. She was more concerned about Sapel, who listlessly climbed off her back, then immediately curled into a shivering ball on the dirt floor. Having nothing else, she covered him with one of the sleeping furs, which was itself wet and musty smelling, but drier than anything else they had.

Spock reappeared with an armload of hurriedly gathered kindling, mostly sticks and deadwood that he had picked up nearby. "It is wet, but it will have to suffice," he sighed, dropping the branches on one end of the shelf. Shrugging off his wet parka, he retrieved a mound of the leaves and piled them in a heap around the kindling.

Then he retrieved a curious looking device from his pack ... their sparker. When the Romulans had marooned them on Terra Two, they had left them with bare survival gear, including a firestarter, a little device that held a small amount of flammable liquid that was fed into a tiny pan. A simple trigger generated a spark that ignited the fuel, making a tiny flame sufficient to start a fire.

The fuel bin was long since empty, but Spock had discovered early on that the sparker was nothing more than an elementary friction device that would work with or without an inbuilt combustible. Held close to kindling such as dried leaves or grass, the spark was sufficient to ignite a minuscule flame. Carefully fed, that flame would grow quickly into a proper fire and it was upon this that Spock was now pinning his hopes.

Bending over the pile of leaves, he struck the flint and saw a spark leap out. The leaves didn't catch and he did it again. And again. And yet again before a faint curl of smoke rose from the leaf debris. Quickly he sheltered the ember with his hands and bent to blow gently on it. It flared, sank back, then flared again as a leaf caught. More blazed up and then the entire pile caught.

Soon Spock had a small fire burning and was carefully laying the wood on it, being sure not to damp it with the wet kindling. Some of the deadwood was old and rotten and dried quickly in the heat, allowing it to catch. After a while, Spock sat back with a sigh, the little blaze now well established.

"Get him near the fire," he said. "Let's get him warmed up."

Christine was already moving Sapel and in a moment she had the boy as near to the crackling fire as was safe. Underneath the fur, the child was shaking uncontrollably. "Stay with him, Spock," she said and went to dig through their supplies.

Spock bent over his son, making sure that the fur was tucked well around him, and laid his palm against Sapel's face, feeling the unnatural warmth radiating from the boy's flushed skin.

"I don't feel good, Papa," Sapel murmured.

"No," Spock answered softly, stroking the damp black hair out of Sapel's face. "I know that you do not. Rest now, _cha'i_."

He caressed the little boy's face again, lightly running a fingertip along the dark line of his brow, smoothing his hair over the small pointed ear. A feeling of wonder deep down twisted Spock's heart. This child ... this Vulcan child ... was _his_. The son he never would have imagined he would have. Spock's thoughts turned to another son that would never be, whose tiny, unformed remains lay deep beneath a willow tree to the north. And suddenly he was gripped with fear for Sapel, that this child too would slip away from him and be forever lost.

Christine came back with a bowl of water in her hands and set it close into the fire to heat. Kneeling beside her husband, she felt his distress through their bond and sent back her reassurances and love. Then she became brusque once more.

"Sapel, sweetheart, Mama's got to check your foot again."

"No! It'll hurt!" the boy cried, starting up.

Both parents pressed him back into the fur warp. "I've got to look at it," Christine said firmly but gently. "I'll be as easy as I possibly can."

She moved to uncover his right foot and unwrapped the bandages from around it while Sapel whimpered in anticipatory fear and clutched at his father's large hand for support. Christine gently manipulated the limb, not liking what she saw, but careful to keep her expression neutral. The wounds were badly infected, scabbed and inflamed, oozing pus when she gingerly touched the turgid flesh. Sapel cried out again and would have jerked his foot away if Christine hadn't had his ankle firmly in her grasp.

She gently set his foot back to rest and said, "Okay, that's all I'm going to do right now. You try to rest now, baby. We'll have some hot broth pretty soon and then we'll all feel better." She got up and moved toward the far end of the shelf, sending a terse mental command to her husband that he join her.

He lifted an eyebrow at her peremptory command, something no Vulcan wife would do, but rose and moved to where she stood with her back toward the fire. "Meld with me, Spock," she whispered, her face grave.

He immediately understood that this was a conversation she did not want Sapel to overhear and he touched his fingertips to her psi points, slipping easily into her mind through their bondlink.

 _What troubles thee, wife?_ he asked as soon as their meld was established.

_I've got to do something about his foot now, Spock, or I'm afraid blood poisoning or gangrene will set in. We can't go any farther until Sapel is better._

_I agree. But what can you treat him with? Your medicine stocks are very low_.

 _I know. I've got to think of something that will draw the infection out and reduce his fever._ Her thoughts swirled in a chaotic maelstrom for a moment as ideas spun through her mind, being tested and rejected in an instant. Then hope flashed into him like a ray of sun breaking through clouds. _Spock ... when I was hurt and miscarried, you helped me with a Vulcan healing trance. Can you do the same thing for Sapel?_

Spock was silent, his mental images swirling in a frantic fog for a few seconds as he evaluated the notion. _It would be a bit harder with Sapel because I am not mind-bonded to him as I am to you. On the other hand, his mind is still fluid and easily manipulated. He has not yet learned to shield as does an adult_.

 _Good_. Christine's thoughts whirled again but this time it was her orderly mind putting her ideas into sequence. _First, I want to get this chill out of him. We'll feed him and get him warmed up. Do you mind going back out into the rain? I have things I need. Firewood. We'll need lots of firewood to keep this shelter warm. And something else ... I need clay. Not mud, but good fine clay._

 _?? Clay?_ Spock could not fathom this request.

_An old, old remedy to draw out infection. Kaolin, when heated and applied as a poultice, will draw out pus, thorns, fluid..._

_!!_

She looked up into his startled eyes, feeling his clear skepticism through the meld. _It works!_ she shot back. _My great-grandmother used it on me when I was a child_. She flashed a memory to him of the ancient home remedy and saw that he accepted it, even if he didn't understand it.

 _Very well_ , he responded. _I will go now_.

He pulled his mind back away from hers and gently disengaged the meld. She closed her eyes and swooned for a second against him, caught in the wave of vertigo she always experienced following a mind meld.

He gripped her upper arms to steady her, but she waved him off. "I'm all right. Go. Get what I need. Hurry."

"Yes, _s'voqi_ ," Spock answered in a serious voice and bent to snatch up his parka, tossing it on and striding back out into the rain.

It was only later that she realized Spock had addressed her as "healer" and had subordinated himself completely to her authority in this crisis.

* * *

Spock knelt at the head of the fur on which Sapel lay and positioned his knees on either side of the boy's head. His brow furrowed and shaking a little with fear, Sapel looked up as his father bent over him. Spock stroked his son's hair reassuringly.

"Do not be afraid, Sapel," he said in a soft, deep voice. "You know that I would not do anything that would harm you."

"I know, Papa," the child answered but nevertheless looked worried.

"I am going to perform a Vulcan technique called _kan-sorn_. You saw me do this with Mama when she was hurt so badly. Do you remember?"

"Yes, Papa. You touched her face like when you read her mind."

Spock smiled. "I do not exactly 'read her mind', Sapel. Vulcans are touch telepaths and, when we touch another in a certain way, we are able to access their thoughts and they access ours so that we may talk with one another inside our minds."

"Can I do that, too?"

"I believe that you will be able to do so once day. You are primarily of Human ancestry, but your Vulcan qualities are strong and your telepathic ability is promising. When we return home, I will begin training you." Spock caressed the small dark head once more. "However, that is for another time. I am going to touch your face and come into your mind. It will feel very strange to you at first because you have never before experienced a mind meld. Do not be afraid. I will help you understand it."

"I'm not afraid, Papa."

"Very good. Now, once I have joined with your mind, I will begin the _kan-sorn_. This is sometimes called a healing trance. It will seem to Mama that we have both gone to sleep, but what we will be doing is concentrating so hard on getting your body to heal itself that we will not be aware of what she is doing. Then we'll wake up. Are you ready to begin?" Sapel still looked a little uncertain, but nodded.

"Very good," Spock said with a reassuring smile. Then he glanced up at Christine, who was kneeling beside Sapel's feet. "I estimate two days. You know what you must do?"

"Yes," she answered.

He nodded once in acknowledgment and then turned his full attention to the little boy. "We begin, Sapel," he said and carefully positioned his fingertips on either side of the small face. His large hands were almost too big to fit onto Sapel's psi points, but after a moment, he was ready. His voice dropping to a whisper and his mind focusing in complete concentration, he intoned, "My mind to your mind ... my thoughts to your thoughts ... we are becoming one..."

Sapel jerked in startled reflex and his eyes opened in near terror, but then he relaxed visibly and took a deep breath, then another, and then his eyes closed again and he went limp. Spock's eyes were closed, too, and his breathing softened to long shallow breaths, his fingers set immovably upon his son's face. Sapel's respiration changed to match Spock's and in a moment they were breathing in unison. The two had become one.

Christine waited until she was sure they were both deep into the _kan-sorn_ , the Vulcan healing trance, and then she went to work. Unbandaging Sapel's foot, she opened, drained and cleaned the wounds as best she could. Then she retrieved a stone pot from near the edge of the fire that was filled with a gooey gray substance. This pot had been sitting in a bowl of near-boiling water, so that the water's heat transferred to the contents.

The clay was hot now, but not so hot that it would burn Sapel's skin. Dipping her fingers into the goo, she began to spread the moist heated substance liberally onto her son's foot. Once the infected wounds were well coated, she cleaned the sticky stuff from her fingers and quickly wrapped his foot in a leather covering, making sure that the heat and moisture stayed in. It would cool and dry slowly and, as it did so, the properties of the clay ought to draw out the deep infection.

Once done, Christine covered her son with a fur wrap to keep him warm and then she draped another one over Spock's shoulders. Both were oblivious to her actions and did not respond. Her work finished for a while, Christine sighed deeply and sat back to wait.

* * *

Sapel was lost in the fog. He didn't know how he'd gotten here or even where he was, but the swirling gray and violet mass was impenetrable. He thought he saw vague shapes in the miasma of formless mist, streaming colors that twisted and merged, but he couldn't be sure. They might have been only places where the fog thickened for a second and then moved on.

The little boy moved forward a few steps, looking frantically around, but there was nothing to see anywhere. "Papa!" he called, turning from one side to another. "Mama!" But only the dead quiet answered him, punctuated by the ceaseless dance of the suffocating wet murk.

He began to shake, feeling the chill and damp clamping around him like a living thing, and tears of fright started in his eyes. "Papa!!" he called again.

"I am here," his father's reassuring deep voice answered from nearby and then suddenly Sapel was not alone anymore. Spock stood beside him, tall, strong, and substantial, his whole aura suffused with a color like lapis.

With a sob of relief, Sapel threw his arms around his father's hips and buried his face against Spock's stomach. "I thought you'd gone, Papa," he said.

"I told you I would not leave you, _cha'i_ ," Spock answered and slipped the palm of his broad hand over Sapel's hair. The boy's mixed fear and reassurance radiated through their open mindbond.

"Where are we, Papa?" Sapel ventured a look at the vapors roiling around them.

"Deep inside your mind. These are your thoughts you see. They are chaotic and out of control because you are ill and because you have not yet learned to command them."

Somewhere deep within the muted hues an inflamed red mass became visible, pulsing, writhing. "What's that?" Sapel asked fearfully, for it appeared like a living thing.

"That is the part of your mind that is being consumed by the infection in your body. We are going to vanquish it and direct your body to heal itself."

"It's so big!"

"It will get smaller because we are going to take control of it and make it go away." Spock gently disengaged Sapel's embrace and then reached down and took his son's hand. "Come. We have much work to do. Let us begin."

Hand in hand, they walked through the fog toward the throbbing, roiling crimson patch of disease.

* * *

Christine didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but she was jerked into abrupt wakefulness by a tortured choking sound and Spock's urgent cry of "Chris! Chris!"

Adrenalin surging, she vaulted to her feet, hurrying to him. He had never addressed her that way and she could only assume that he was unable to get more than monosyllables out as he struggled to consciousness.

His fingers were still firmly in meld position on Sapel's face and the boy's whole body was tensed, his expression crumpled as if in pain. Spock's was nearly identical, his eyes closed, but gasping desperately for breath.

"Chris!" he called again.

"I'm here, Spock!" she answered loudly.

"Hit me!" he commanded and again desperately tried to pull air into his lungs.

Christine hated this part but knew it was imperative. She reared back and slapped him with all her might, the power of her blow nearly knocking him over. On the return motion, she backhanded him with equal strength, slamming his face the other way.

She did this three times, her hand aching almost unbearably from the blows, until Spock abruptly grabbed her wrist and stopped her, sighing deeply. "Sufficient," he said in a normal voice. He seemed to wilt a little as the tautness left him, then quickly turned his attention Sapel, who was stirring and coughing. Spock had dragged his consciousness back up through the meld and awakened him that way.

Lightly, Spock slapped Sapel's cheek a couple of times, hardly causing more than a sting, and the boy opened his eyes and stared wildly up at his father. "How do you feel, Sapel?" Spock asked forcefully.

"I'm okay," the child answered, still bewildered. "Wha' happened?" He yawned hugely. "I'm sleepy, Papa."

"I want Mama to check your foot again and then you can go back to sleep," Spock replied and glanced up at his wife. Christine was already unwrapping the bandage from her son's foot and reached for a bowl of water that she'd kept warm by the fire. The clay poultice cracked and flaked off as the bandage was unwound but she could already see normal, healthy skin underneath it. Carefully, she picked at the remaining clay, getting as much off as she could, then she immersed Sapel's foot in the water bowl and let the rest of the poultice dissolve as she gently washed the limb.

When she lifted Sapel's foot from the bowl, wet and dripping, both she and Spock could see that it was healed. The scars still showed red and tender, but they were covered with new skin and there was no infection or swelling.

Christine looked up and her gaze met her husband's. She didn't have to say anything because the happiness she was feeling echoed back and forth between them. He looked exhausted, but his dark eyes were shining with victory.

She quickly went back to her task at hand, drying off Sapel's foot thoroughly, and then making sure it was wrapped in a soft hide covering, something that would protect it but not irritate the still healing skin. Then she removed the bowl of dirty water and set it aside for later disposal.

Spock stroked his son's dark, tousled hair and said softly, "All right. You can go back to sleep now, Sapel. We can all rest now."

The child yawned again and shifted onto one side, pulling the furs up around him. "Okay. 'Night, Papa."

" _Qas'ikhor, cha'i_ ," Spock whispered in Vulcan, stroking the tangled black hair one more time.

Christine rose and went to him, offering her hand. He started to refuse it and rise on his own, then faltered as his knees protested being in the same position for so long. He caught her hand and she gave him a helpful little pull to his feet. There, he swayed fractionally and she slipped her arms around his middle.

"You sleep, too," she commanded softly.

He didn't argue, exhausted from the healing trance, and she guided him a few feet to where their own sleeping furs were spread. There, she helped him out of his breeches and moccasins and he gratefully stretched out and let himself go limp. She set his clothing aside and slipped in beside him.

"Was it rough?" she asked in a low voice.

"No moreso than I expected," he answered, his eyes closed tiredly. "He did well. His abilities are quite strong. I will begin training him in mind control techniques once we get back home. If we were living on Vulcan, his education would have begun already."

"He's only three," she answered, slipping her hand into his and lacing their fingers together.

"He is three here, but the longer year makes his chronological age deceptive. If we were on Vulcan or even on Earth, he would be four. It is past time to begin. He is quite developed for his age, in any case." His voice trailed off and he was silent.

"We'll worry about that later," she answered and snuggled against him . "Sleep now. You're worn out."

He didn't hear her. He'd already fallen asleep and begun to snore.

* * *

The wind that cut across the prairie's open expanses bit through Christine's leathers and furs, but she scarcely felt it. It was just the last breath of winter refusing to give up its hold on the land, but already it had lost its battle.

Trees were green and carpets of spring wildflowers had spread across the plains, painting them in broad splashes of white, yellow, pink and purple.

In the south, spring was even more advanced, the wet weather causing an explosion of growth, with fruit already beginning to appear on trees and bushes as small green nodules that would swell over the summer into vari-colored sweetness. Here, near their home valley, it was later in coming, but undeniably about to burst into riotous life.

Christine was suffused with that same feeling. She couldn't explain it, but it seemed as if the urgent call of the season had swept over her in an almost palpable wave. She felt energized, full, and eager to begin anew, to leave the hardships of winter and the long journey behind them. And, when she looked up at her tall husband standing beside her, also surveying the way before him, she felt a sudden surge of excitement that caught her completely by surprise.

It must have swept through their mindbond as well, for he looked back at her and his slim brows rose inquisitively, his dark eyes locking onto her blue ones. The hum of urgency sang back and forth between them, although not a word was spoken aloud, and his voice sounded softly within her mind. _Is it so, wife?_ It was a rhetorical question, his Vulcan phrasing clearly translating his meaning.

She felt herself blush and grinned in return. "It's been a long month, husband," she answered in an intimate voice. "A long time to go without you. I can't wait until we finally get home."

His eyes were full of promise as he reached up to trail his paired fingers down her cheek, leaving a trail of fire as he did so. "Do wait, though," he whispered, his touch inflaming her. "The reward of abstinence is its end."

"That's a pretty profound thing to say," she retorted, her eyes shining.

"It is a quote from Surak."

"Pretty sexy quote. I thought all spiritual leaders were ascetics and liked to advocate celibacy."

"Surak had a quite normal sexual life and several children," Spock answered lightly, his gaze now full of mischief. "How do you think I got here?"

"Oh, that's right. I forgot you're directly descended from him."

"Indeed. I shall have to think of more of his advice on sexuality and marital relations." Spock was smiling at her with that roguish expression that she knew so well.

Christine reached up and took his hand, bringing it to her lips. "Meanwhile, if we don't get a move on, we'll never get home and be able to do anything about it."

"Agreed," her husband answered and released her hand. Adjusting the heavy pack he carried on his back, he set out once more with his bonded mate at his side and their young son running ahead to explore.

Ahead of them, the sun broke through the clouds and lit the landscape with the golden light of a new day.

 

END OF PART THREE

PART FOUR – "d'VEHL'NAR" – FOLLOWS


	4. Year Four -- d'Vehl'nar

**Present Day**

Trotting around the corral, Sapel managed to toss the loop of his rope over the head of the stocky yellow horse who was watching him warily. Strictly speaking, the animal wasn't a horse, but it more than anything resembled the primitive equine ancestor _mesohippus_. Not much bigger than a mastiff, it was the color of late summer straw, its legs and flanks striped a muddy brown, upright mane and tail hairs nearly black, with a long brown stripe running down its backbone. Its three-toed hooves showed evidence that at some remote point in the future, several million years perhaps, some incredibly distant descendant would run on a single toe, but for now, its foot more closely resembled that of a tapir than a horse.

This particular one was both family pet and servant, captured by Sapel and his father a couple of hundred miles north of their present location here on the shores of the Southern Sea. The little mare had proven docile and had quickly been broken to pull a travois loaded with their belongings as the family made their way south the previous autumn, following the herds of game they hunted.

Once at Sea Home, they had constructed a corral and lean-to stable and Mezzie, as she was called, had taken up residence beside the family's cabin. Now it was spring and would soon be time to return north, cutting a fine line between the receding winter weather there and the emergence of hordes of mosquitos here. They had also learned to beware of the return of the seal herds to the beaches near their home. Long-necked sea reptiles resembling plesiosaurs lived in the waters of Southern Sea and hunted the seals ... And anything else that ventured too near the water.

Sapel still bore the scars from such an encounter when he was three. He had narrowly escaped death at the jaws of such a monster and his right foot had the wounds to prove it. He did not think of that now, though. Nearly eleven, he was more intent today on working with his horse and reacquainting her with the feel of harness and bridle. The tack was crudely fashioned of braided leather strips, but was quite serviceable and he quickly got the _mesohippus_ under his control. Once convinced that she would yield to his mastery, the boy launched himself up onto the animal's back, his feet nearly touching the ground as he straddled her.

She gave a few half-hearted little bucks, then settled down. Her flanks were wide and heavy and she didn't have the energy to put up much of a fight. Satisfied, Sapel gently brought his heels up and nudged her sides, and the animal began a slow walk around the corral.

Leaning on the fence, Sapel's five-year-old sister, T'Jenn, watched in admiration and a bit of jealousy. "I wanna ride next!" she announced.

"You can't," the boy responded, guiding his mount. "I'm not playin' with her, Jenn. I'm workin' her."

"Well, I can work her, too!"

"You don't know how."

"Do, too!"

"Do not."

"Do, too!!"

"What is going on here?!" demanded a new voice.

T'Jenn spun and Sapel jerked his head around. Their mother was standing at the corner of the corral, hands on her hips. Clinging to one leg was her youngest child, little T'Kai. A little over a year and a half old, the baby was watching the whole proceedings with wide black eyes, one thumb stuck in her mouth.

"Sapel, get off that horse," Christine Chapel ordered.

"I'm not hurtin' her, Ma. She needs the exercise. She's too fat," Sapel protested, even as he swung his leg over the wide back and dropped to his feet.

"She's not fat, Sapel," Christine responded. "You know very well that she's going to have a foal and probably very soon now. It's not good for you to get on her right now."

He looked sheepish. "I didn't mean to hurt her or nothin'," he muttered.

Christine's stance softened a bit. "I know you didn't, son. But her insides are delicate and I'm sure she doesn't feel very good. Remember how bad I felt just before T'Kai was born? Okay, then. You can walk her around the corral a little, but don't ride her. And make sure her stall is clean and has fresh bedding in it. From the looks of her, I wouldn't be surprised if she foaled in the next day or two."

"Okay, Mama." Sapel slipped his arm around the horse's neck and patted her affectionately. He was extraordinarily fond of the animal and Christine knew he would do his best for her.

"Good. Jenny, you come help me. I want you to watch Kai-Kai while I get supper ready," Christine said, bending to pick up her baby and park her on one hip.

"Aw, Mama, do I hafta?"

"Yes. Papa will be home soon and we're having marsh duck stuffed with greens. I can't cook that and watch Kai at the same time. Come on."

The tall woman started off, confident that her other daughter would follow. T'Jenn cast a disgruntled glance back at her brother, then trailed after. "Sapel has all the fun," she whined.

Christine smiled in amusement. "Well, if you call mucking out a stable 'fun'," she answered. "How about this? If you're good and do what you're told with a smile ... you can name the foal."

T'Jenn's blue eyes lit up in amazement. "Really? Goldie! I'm gonna call her Goldie!"

"What if it's a boy? And it isn't gold?"

"Mmmmmm ... I don't know. I'll think of something." The little girl skipped along quite happily now, totally focused on the task at hand.

Christine chuckled in return and shifted T'Kai as they came around to the front of the cabin. She had felt the same excitement with each of her babies, she reflected. Even the ones she'd lost...

* * *

**Year Four...**

Christine sat with her back against the trunk of the large tree a few steps from the opening to the little cave they called home. It was a warm night with a gentle breeze ruffling her unbound hair, the air heavy with the fragrances of spring. The perfume of the tree's blossoms were intoxicating and she let her eyes close blissfully as she inhaled.

Everything around her seemed rife with creation and new beginnings, and Christine felt the same charged energy tingling deep within her as well.

Beside her, Spock settled down against the tree and stretched his long legs out before him. "He is asleep," he said. "I was forced to recite the entire saga of Suvik and T'Lak tonight before he finally drifted off. I am running out of children's stories to tell."

Christine laughed softly. "You'd think, with two planets' worth of literature to draw on, we could come up with enough to keep him satisfied! It wouldn't be so hard if we didn't have to adapt them to something he understands! I didn't think I'd ever get Cinderella translated!"

"I know. He questioned me quite thoroughly on how someone could possibly get into a vinefruit and have it pulled away by six white prairie diggers."

Christine couldn't help another burst of laughter at that, then leaned her head against Spock's shoulder and slipped her arm through his. For a while they simply sat in companionable silence, enjoying the night. There was a gap in the foliage above them, where a large branch had broken and fallen during the previous winter's ice storm. It left a clear view of the sky and they both found their gaze turning to the bright dusting of stars that shown there.

"It's been four full years now," Christine whispered, "and I still find myself looking for a ship up there."

"As do I at times," Spock answered softly. "Logically, I know that we have long since been declared dead, but I sometimes wonder if they are still searching, nevertheless."

"Jim would be. Maybe not actively, but he'd still have feelers out for any sort of lead."

Spock gave a little grunt of agreement. "Indeed. The Captain is not easily deterred."

She looked up at him. "Have you ever tried contacting him? Mentally, I mean? You two were so close."

"Our relationship was not close enough to permit something of that sort without directly touching," Spock responded, dismissing it.

Christine was silent for a moment then said cautiously, "There were those who thought it was, you know. I heard some pretty nasty rumors that went around the lower decks."

"That Jim and I were lovers, you mean?" Spock shook his head. "We were shield-brothers. Nothing more. A sexual relationship would have destroyed the professional and military distance between us that was essential for our positions onboard ship. Jim realized that as much as I and neither of us ever permitted our friendship to go beyond that of brother-in-arms."

Deep down, Christine felt a note of comfort sing within her. Some worrisome little voice of doubt had always been there, like a speck of sand in her shoe, that maybe, just maybe, the rumors were true and that Spock's true love, his true lifemate, was still out there somewhere searching for him. Now she knew and the doubt was gone.

She snuggled closer and smiled, her warmth flowing into him like honey. She didn't have to express her relief. He felt it as surely as if she'd spoken aloud. Turning to her in surprise, he said, "Did you truly fear that I would abandon you? _Aduna_ , you are the heart within me! I have pledged myself to you unto death!"

She felt ashamed and hid her face against his arm. "I'm sorry, Spock," she murmured. "It was foolish of me to doubt you ... after all we've been through."

He touched his fingertips to her chin and lifted her face gently to his. "Never doubt me, _t'hy'la_. Never. We have joined ourselves into one being, one mind. And half a person cannot live. You are my other half, beloved. I cannot live without you, nor would I want to."

He leaned into her and touched his lips softly to hers, a pledge and a promise. She kissed him solemnly back, asking forgiveness. Their lips parted, then moved together once again, harder this time, more fervently, and he disengaged his arm from her grasp, sliding it around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

She sank against him, tilting her face up farther, her hand going up to rest on his chest. Her fingers found the lacings of his shirt and slid between them, her fingertips sinking through the crisp hair to finally rest flat against his heated skin.

She felt his lips part against hers and the tip of his tongue touched her mouth. Willingly, she welcomed him, meeting his foray with her own. Bringing his other arm up, he completed his embrace, holding her tight and giving himself fully over to the devouring kiss.

After a long moment, he lifted his lips from hers, allowing her breathe, but did not release her. Instead, he moved down her throat, feeling her pulsing lifeblood throb underneath his mouth, and tickled his tongue over the spot, sucking gently at her skin. She gasped at the sensation and felt an answering throb between her legs.

Moving his hand down and slipping it underneath her tunic, he engulfed one breast and squeezed it lightly, massaging until he felt her nipple harden beneath his palm. Gently, but insistently, he pushed her back, bending with her until he had her supine, then he lifted her tunic up out of the way, and quickly replaced his hand with his lips, pulling her fevered flesh into his mouth and working her turgid nipple with his tongue, sucking just hard enough to make her gasp on the thin edge of pain.

She reached up and softly grasped the point of his ear between her fingertips, squeezing and stroking downward with a matching amount of force. With a sharp intake of air, he abruptly released her, not from any pain that she had caused him, but from the immediate surge of sexual arousal that shot through his groin as a result. She fondled him again, enjoying his reaction, and he bent back to her breast.

For a long moment, they stimulated the other until the pleasure became unbearable. Then he reached up and caught her wrist and returned to her lips, taking her with a ravenous open‑mouthed kiss that left her breathless and writhing beneath him.

"Take me to bed, Spock," she whispered against his mouth and captured his lips again, her arms around his neck. He returned it for a long minute, then pulled away, getting to his feet. Taking her hand, he drew her up as well, then suddenly swept her up into his arms. Dizzy from the level of arousal she was feeling, Christine hid her face against his neck, clinging to him as he swiftly bore her to their bedside.

Once there, he set her on her feet again, pulling her firmly against him as he bent to her lips yet again, seemingly insatiable, as his own excitement evidenced itself in the powerful erection pressing between them. With a whimper of pleasure, she reached down to grasp him through the leather of his loincloth, pumping him gently.

He groaned against her mouth and thrust his tongue between her teeth, probing and stroking against hers. By almost simultaneous agreement, their hands sought the lacings of the other's shirt and they worked with frantic haste, pulling loose ties and closures, pushing the leather garments off shoulders and arms, all the time, their lips feasting and tasting, then fell back into one another's arms, hand roaming over bare fevered flesh.

She was clad in leather breeches and loin cloth just as he was and his fingers found their way beneath the leather strip between her legs, dipping into her satiny wetness and fondling her intriguing folds and textures. In answer, her hand slid underneath the tie of his loin cloth and her fingers wrapped around the rock hard shaft that demanded immediate release, marveling at the silky steel and textures she found there. She could already feel the slickness of incipient climax and rolled the moisture over the smooth head of his penis, readying him.

Squirming a little, he stopped her. "Too soon," he murmured to her and drew her hand away from its tantalizing find.

Nevertheless, he pulled away a little and undid the tie, allowing the loin cloth to drop, freeing his throbbing manhood at last. Quickly he kicked off his moccasins and shoved his breeches down, stepping out of them. Following his example, she stripped hurriedly, impatient, then they fell back together, their hot, anxious bodies twining together in tight embrace.

Feeling his hardness pressed against her stomach, hot and hungry, was almost more than she could stand, but he thwarted her every attempt to grasp him again. "Not yet," he whispered between kisses, fending off her hands. "Soon."

"I want you now!" she murmured back, already so aroused that she wondered if she would go mad. "Please, Spock!"

Instead, he dropped to his knees before her and let his hands slide around to massage her buttocks, his lips trailing wet kisses over her abdomen, tongue tickling her. Her flesh quivered beneath his mouth, sending matching tremors through him. He kissed his way down to the dark tangle of hair at the juncture of her thighs and nudged her legs a bit farther apart. Then he dipped his head a little and she felt his tongue slide in between the swollen, sensitive lips at her center.

Gasping, she clutched convulsively at his shoulders to steady herself, nearly falling as weakness took her legs. But he didn't let her fall. Instead, his strong hands supported her and allowed her to sink down onto their bedding, on her back and with her knees bent and apart. Moving his hands up to cup her thighs, he spread her wider with his thumbs and ducked his head to the heart of her womanhood, laving the pulsing nub with his tongue.

Her musky scent flooded him as he did so, and reflexively he lifted his head for a second, as if taken by surprise, then he returned to his loveplay, sucking and kissing her with fervor, plunging his tongue into the well of her sweet juices and teasing her until she erupted into a ferocious orgasm. She wanted to scream but didn't dare, and the sound came out through her clenched teeth as a soft keen, her hips arching up beneath him, her body absolutely pulsing with heat as she climaxed against his mouth.

When she relaxed a bit, she urged him up to lie beside her and he moved obligingly. Still intensely aroused, she kissed the evidence of her orgasm from his mouth and face, thrusting her tongue between his lips and pressing her charged body against his, his erection like a shaft of flame between them. Almost without thinking, she grasped him once again and this time he let her.

As they kissed and tongued one another, she pumped him with increasing fervor, growing more excited at the rigid, swelling flesh she held, feeling his arousal intensify more with each stroke. Once more she felt pre-ejaculate seep from the end of his pulsating penis, warm and slick, and, as she had done before, she spread it over the head of his organ, lubricating the tip and preparing him for entry.

But he made no move to mount her, despite the building urgency she felt in him and the way he was thrusting into her hand, his breath coming in quick, hard pants. Suddenly she felt certain that he was content to let her bring him to fulfillment manually and she didn't want it that way. She was hungry to feel him inside her, to experience the incredible completeness of his pounding body atop hers.

To encourage him, she lifted her thigh over his and, still grasping him, guided him into position, rubbing the head of his eager rod in her own secretions before bringing him to the gateway of her beckoning depths.

With a gasp of near pain, Spock pulled his hips back, away from her, and then she knew that something was wrong.

Pausing, she peered closely at him, her face only inches from his, and tried to read through their bond the cause. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she asked softly. "Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

To her surprise, his face gentled and he offered her little smile. "No. No, I am fine," he answered in a husky whisper. "You did nothing."

"Then what?" She was genuinely puzzled.

"I thought you were aware of the reason," he replied but she only looked more bewildered, obviously not understanding.

"I detected a change in your scent during our foreplay," he answered, stroking his fingertips down her cheek. "You are fertile right now. I cannot enter you like this ... when you might conceive."

Christine closed her eyes and a sigh escaped her at his words. Logically, she knew that she should be grateful for his consideration, but her body was screaming for completion. The sexual arousal that permeated her went beyond anything she'd ever felt, her genitals throbbing, her very being literally aching for the release of orgasm. And she knew that manual or oral stimulation would not bring her the relief she sought. It went beyond the mere "want" of him. She _craved_ him, had to have him, required the sensation of his engorged penis filling every inch of her with his fire and strength, his maleness melding into her femaleness for absolute completion.

Opening her eyes, she stared intently up into his and whispered forcefully, "Spock, I _need_ you. Please!"

Slowly, he shook his head and caressed her face again. "If I do, you will become pregnant. Another time, _t'hy'la_. Not tonight."

She nearly wept, her body trembling in frustration. "Please, Spock! I want you in me more than anything I've ever known! I can't stand it!"

Her distress was coming plainly through their bond and he felt her voracity and urgency. It was like the beginning stages of _pon farr_ and it sent a fresh surge of answering need into his tight, pulsing groin. It was becoming nearly impossible to hold himself back. Still he resisted.

"We decided to wait," he continued in a soft voice. "I will not impregnate you simply to gratify our lust. You would hate me for giving in to it. You would hate the child."

She drew her breath and brought her hands up to cup his face, searching his eyes with hers. "Is that what you think, Spock? Oh, my darling, how could I ever? I love you more than life itself and I will love our child just as much! And maybe it's meant to be. If my body is telling me this strongly to make love to you, then perhaps it's time to listen to it." Her blue eyes were locked onto his deep brown ones, unwavering. "I love you, Spock, and I want you. I want you in me more than anything. And, if a child results, I will bear it with joy."

For a long moment, he exchanged a searching gaze with her, then gently rolled her onto her back, moving into position above her. She opened her legs to receive him, but once more he paused, his rigidity pressed against her very portal. "Are you certain, Christine?" he asked in a barely audible whisper. "Are you absolutely certain?"

She smiled and her face was suffused with complete love. "Yes, Spock. Oh, yes..."

He did not speak again, except with the intent gaze he held locked onto her eyes. Never breaking eye contact with her, he slowly and deliberately pressed his hips forward ... and was suddenly inside her. She gasped softly as he penetrated her, her incredibly sensitized passage clutching hungrily at his hard masculinity.

Still looking deeply into her eyes, he began to move, thrusting gently into her depths. Gradually, his thrusts gained speed and force, until he abruptly clenched his eyes shut and shuddered, drawing his breath in with almost a sob, and she felt the liquid heat of his ejaculation flood her.

She held him close until he was finished and then kissed him softly as he leaned his head down to rest against her neck. He was still buried within her, still hard and tensed, and now that the threshold had been crossed, he had no reason to hold himself back. With small, almost imperceptible motions, he began to move in her again and it was like striking spark to ready tender.

Arousal blazed back up between them full force and he made a sudden adjustment in his position and plunged into her hard, his hips pumping with power and excitement. She responded, bringing her legs up to grip him and digging her nails into the bunched muscles of his back. As gentle as he had been before, he was that unbridled now, lifting himself onto corded forearms and pounding into her with passion and flame. She felt the primitive Vulcan in him surging forth, the savage who took his mate with all his emotions laid bare, and it excited her beyond anything she could imagine.

Throwing her head back, she clung to him and let herself spiral into an unparalleled climax, nearly losing herself in the rapturous whirlpool of total orgasm. United through their bond, she took him with her and, when he slammed into her and erupted into her eager depths, filling her with the essence of his being, they had dissolved into entities of pure light and sensation, reaching another level of existence.

Christine slowly came back to her corporeal body, her mind separating itself from Spock's and whirling with latent impressions and thoughts. He was still lying atop her, within her but softening, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed as he too sorted things back into perspective. Gently, she pulled him down into her arms and rested his cheek against her shoulder, stroking his hair and simply savoring his nearness.

A small sound pulled at her attention but she was too enervated to move. Spock, however, was more responsive and lifted his head, staring in the direction over her shoulder. She saw his face harden with displeasure and, when he spoke, his voice was soft, but edged with absolute, inarguable authority.

"Sapel, you will return to your bed and stay there. You will not leave it again. Turn away from this direction and go to sleep. We will speak of this in the morning." He continued to glare unblinking in that direction for another minute, then eased his stance and seemed to go limp.

Christine covered her eyes with one hand and murmured, "Oh, God..."

"It was inevitable," Spock sighed in a voice only for her hearing. He lifted himself off her and rolled onto his back at her side, pulling the fur coverings up over their bodies. "I will take him aside tomorrow and talk with him. It is time he understood."

She sighed as well and snuggled against his side, letting her hand come to rest in the hollow of his chest. "Meanwhile, try to get some sleep. I am. That last session was absolutely unbelievable!"

He covered her hand with his own and pressed it gently against him. " _Adun'i t'hy'la_ ," he murmured in exhaustion and satiation, "the fusion of our souls brings completeness to all things."

She chuckled softly. "Sounds like another saying from Surak. I'll take it as a compliment. Go to sleep now, my _adun_ beloved. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

* * *

Christine looked up from her job in sick bay to find the infirmary empty of patients and personnel. Where had everyone gone? she wondered. She hadn't noticed them leaving, nor had anyone spoken to her. Everything seemed normal, except there were no people around. As she was about to call over the intercom to locate someone, Spock entered, a fevered look in his eyes. He was wearing a Vulcan robe of black that stretched to the floor and had silver piping embroidered down its front. He spotted her and approached her without hesitation.

"It is Time, Christine," he said in a low voice. "You are fertile and it has triggered this condition in me. We must mindbond immediately." So saying, he parted his robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing that he was totally nude underneath. He also was enormously erect and Christine felt an immediate answering surge of arousal at the sight of his extended penis.

Still, she maintained a clinical detachment. "I must examine you first," she answered and directed him to get onto one of the beds. He did so, his rigid shaft protruding prominently. With neutral professionalism, she bent over him and inspected his genitals closely, noting the raised veins along the sides and the fact that his testicles had increased in size as well. His organ was a dark olive green, tight with the blood pumped into it, and she could feel the heat radiating off it.

She raised up and said, "It's _pon farr_ , all right. I'm afraid there's only one treatment but you'll get me pregnant in the process. I hope you don't mind."

"If that's what you want," he answered evenly.

"Of course, it is," she responded. "What a silly thing to say."

Abruptly she was naked, not entirely sure she was ever clothed to begin with, and she climbed up onto the bed to straddle him. Settling onto his hips, she felt the hard, heated phallus lodge into place against her vagina and then push into her as she sank onto him. When he filled her completely, she began to move rhythmically, rocking against him, growing more and more excited at the sensation of his rigid, swollen penis tight within her.

He closed his eyes and groaned, then she felt him pulse deep inside her and wetness flood into her depths. After a moment, he looked up at her and said, "I require another ejaculation. That wasn't enough."

For a second, her senses turned inward and she could picture sperm swimming toward a large, slowly turning egg. He was right. They would never reach the ovum in time. Obligingly, she began thrusting atop him again, her breasts bouncing and her hair falling around her face. He reached up with both hands and grasped her full breasts, squeezing them in time with her thrusts. It sent her soaring up even higher and she leaned forward to rest her hands on his shoulders, using his sturdy body as an anchor. In a moment, he bucked up beneath her and once more liquid gushed into her. This time, she felt it running out of her, flowing slickly between her thighs and his hips. It made her passage so slippery that she wasn't sure she could keep him in her.

"It's coming out," she sighed.

"Then you need to be on bottom so it will stay in," Spock said reasonably. Without either of them seeming to have moved, she found herself on her back with Spock lying atop her, working his hips determinedly, jamming his still hard erection deep into her, heedless of the squelchy sounds his repeated entries and withdrawals were making against her drenched genitals.

"I need to wipe myself," she told him.

"No, I'm coming again," he answered and held her tight against him, slamming himself hard against her once more.

Another surge and a fresh gout burst into her, and this time he sighed contentedly as he emptied himself. "Ahh ... That one did it. You will conceive now."

"Good. But I need to clean up," she said. "I've got work to do."

He didn't move off her or withdraw his penis from her body. "Dr. McCoy has excused you from duty," Spock answered. "It is more important that you remain here and serve me. Come, I want to do it again."

She pushed at him to stop him. The surface underneath her was suddenly very hard and unyielding. It didn't feel like a bed at all. Turning her head to one side, she realized with a start that she was no longer in sick bay ... and she was no longer alone with Spock. In horror, as he began to pump into her again, she realized that she was sprawled on the conference table in the main briefing room — and the Captain and all the department heads were sitting in their customary chairs around the table, watching dispassionately as Spock began to thrust into her once again.

* * *

Christine jerked awake in the pre-dawn darkness, for a second unsure of her surroundings, then she felt Spock's strong arms protectively holding her and his body pressed against hers in their bed of furs.

"It's all right," he whispered. "It was merely a dream."

She was shaking. "What a dream! I thought I was—"

"I know. You were broadcasting quite strongly through our bond. It awoke me. Try to go back to sleep."

Her mind was whirling. "I don't know if I can. I'm really agitated right now. I'm horny and angry and upset all at the same time."

"Shall I assist you in finding calm?" he asked from behind her, his deep voice very soft in her ear.

"I don't think I want to have sex, if that's what you mean," she whispered back, still uneasy.

"No, although I would gladly make love to you if that is what you need to release this tension. I was referring to a light mind meld," he answered. "I believe I can soothe your thoughts and allow you to find serenity again."

He pulled her against him, not aggressively or in a sexual manner, although they were both naked and he could feel the latent arousal generated by her dream still buzzing through her like a live current. Another time, he would have welcomed the raw stimulation he felt in her, but this was not the time to respond to it. Instead, he projected calming thoughts to her, gently smoothing down the ruffled emotions and jangled nerves. Slowly, she began to relax against him.

"You were ... having sex with me ... in front of everybody," she whispered after a while, though calmer. "They were all just sitting there watching us."

He continued to soothe her through their mindlink. "And this is the part of the dream that has upset you the most?"

"Yes. I don't know why. I know it was just a dream but..."

"Is it because Sapel observed us last night in the act of intercourse?"

"Yes ... I don't know." Her agitation level began to rise again and he sent another wave of serenity to move over her.

"My mother..." she murmured, her tone introspective. "It's my mother that upsets me."

"Your mother was in the dream?"

"No. But having those people watch me made me feel ... dirty. Sinful. Ashamed." She trembled a little and he nuzzled into her hair, holding her closely against him.

"Privacy was important to your mother," he guessed.

"More than that. She was very religious. She thought sex was only for reproduction and you weren't supposed to get pleasure from it." Christine laid her hand atop Spock's and interlaced her fingers with his. "I thought I'd worked all that nonsense out of my brain years ago. I guess having Sapel catch us just dredged it all back up from my subconscious. It was like my mother had caught us. I felt like I was 15 again, having a quick lay with my boyfriend and half afraid that my mother would come in and find us."

Spock murmured a small sound, feeling her relax against him. "How do you feel now, _t'hy'la?_ "

"Better. That's what was troubling me, Spock. I'm sorry. This is all too silly for words." She twisted in his arms and brought her face close to kiss him. "How do you put up with me?"

"I daresay there are some demons in my soul that have my father's face on them," he answered wryly. "It gives me pause on what I shall say to Sapel today. I do not want to do to him what our parents did to us!"

"Absolutely! No condemnation or guilt."

She kissed him lightly again, then again a bit harder. Now that her nightmares had been vanquished, the erotic aspects of her dream drifted back into her mind and she found herself responding to the wonderful closeness of her husband's naked skin pressed against hers. Her arousal surged up and she felt his answering twitch of interest against her pelvis.

"I was endeavoring to lull you back to sleep," he whispered in an amused tone.

"Mmmm ... one quickie to help us relax and then I promise..." she murmured back, lifting her lips once more to his and slipping her arm around his shoulders.

"You will try not to derive any pleasure out of it, won't you?" he responded teasingly.

"I'll hate every minute of it," she promised him and they came joyously together in the warmth and security of their entangled furs.

* * *

The new spring grass was ankle deep and cool as Spock climbed up out of the valley to the plains beyond and paused to make sure that Sapel was following him. The morning sun had burned away most of the dew but the grass was still moist enough to dampen their leather moccasins as the two waded through the green sea toward the herds of _mesohippus_ , antelope and other browsers, all taking advantage of the sweet vegetation and foliage.

Sapel had been apprehensive when his father had directed him to get his things and accompany him hunting. He had not forgotten the cold anger he had felt the night before as he rose from his bed to investigate the noises coming from his parents' bed and had stood dumbfounded as he watched the strange goings-on. Now, he was certain that this hunting trip was an excuse for punishment of some sort and he followed his father reluctantly.

However, the emotional emanations he felt from Spock were contented and confident, if with a dash of concern tossed in. It puzzled the boy but he went along dutifully. The two walked for a half hour then came to an outcropping of rocks not far from the grazing herds. Here Spock paused and found a place to sit in the warm morning sun where he could gaze out across the plains to the distant mountain range on the horizon. The peaks were still swathed in snow and stretched across the skyline like an endless line of jagged teeth, so far away that they were barely visible in the blue haze of the atmosphere. Someday, he decided, he'd explore in that direction and see what lay between their camp and the far-off mountains.

Spock motioned for Sapel to join him and the boy climbed up to sit beside his father, sensing that Spock would soon get to the real purpose of this journey. But for a good while, Spock merely sat and watched the herds, as if studying them and selecting a potential candidate for their hunt, as he well may have been doing.

As Sapel was beginning to relax and watch the new colts and calves gambol among the grazing adults, his father said in a soft voice, "It is time we spoke, Sapel. You are growing up and it is time you began to learn of your heritage and of the reasons things are the way they are."

"What do you mean, Papa?"

Spock took a deep breath and continued, "You are aware that your mother and I are not of the same backgrounds. She is Human and a native of the planet Earth. My own mother ... your grandmother ... whose name is Amanda, is also from that planet. However, my father, Sarek, is from the planet Vulcan."

"That's why you look different from Mama, and have pointed ears and green blood and all," Sapel broke in. "Am I from Vulcan, too?"

"No, technically, you are from _here_ , Terra Two. Terra, by the way, is another name for Earth and we gave this planet that name because it reminded us both of your mother's planet. But, back to the subject of your heritage ... even though you have Vulcan characteristics, you are three‑quarters Human. You are a hybrid of the two species, like me, except that I am half-Vulcan and physically am Vulcan."

The boy was looking puzzled. "I'm not sure I understand," he said.

"You will when you are older. Do not worry about it now," Spock said. "What I want to begin to teach you is the way of life on Vulcan. It is a very special way of living and one that takes much study and discipline. However, we feel that it is worthwhile and the preferred way. It is called _d'Vel'nah_ r, which means 'Vulcan by choice'. It is how I have chosen to live the majority of my own life."

"Okay," Sapel said, if a little hesitantly. The word "discipline" had made him wary.

Spock nodded in satisfaction and continued to gaze at the herds, his eyes slitted against the sunlight. After a moment he said, "Our first lesson will begin now. Sapel, do you understand why I was upset with you last night?"

Sapel looked up at the tall man beside him and squirmed a bit. "I wasn't s'posed to see what you and Mama were doing?"

"Why do you think you were not meant to see it?" Spock questioned.

The boy looked down, searching for the correct answer. "'Cause it was ... bad?"

Spock glanced at the boy in a reassuring manner then turned back to the animals. "No, Sapel. What we were doing was not bad." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "When a man and a woman are bonded — married — they want to be as close as possible to each other." He hesitated again, trying to make this come out the way he wanted it to. "One of those ways is a ... physical joining of their bodies. For a Vulcan, it also involves a joining of minds, but Humans do not have that ability. What you saw us doing last night was a physical joining."

Sapel was silent and thoughtful, his brow furrowed together. "Like I've seen the animals do sometimes?" he suggested.

"Somewhat. When you see a buck or stallion get onto a female's back, they are mating. But it's not the same with people. A man and woman like to join as an expression of their love for one another. Animals are merely following an urge to reproduce."

"What's that mean?" the boy wondered.

"It means they create a baby."

"How do people reper... reperdu... Then?" Sapel asked, turning his wide brown eyes up to his father.

It was Spock's turn to squirm a little bit. "Um ... well ... when a man and woman join this way, sometimes a baby is started inside the woman as a result, but it's not always the case."

"Did I start that way?"

"Yes."

"Did Mama start a baby last night?"

"I don't know, Sapel. We'll just have to wait and see." Spock took a deep breath and said, "But we are straying from the subject. When a man and woman want to be together this way, they want to be alone. It is an intensely private thing and not for others to observe."

"But I sleep in the same space as you, Papa. You woke me up last night. I couldn't help but see you," the boy protested.

"I know. It is difficult." Spock was silent as he pondered how best to explain it. "What you must learn to practice is the Tenet of Privacy."

"What's that?"

"It goes like this: 'Harm no one's internal, invisible integrity. Leave others the privacies of their minds and lives. Intimacy remains precious only insofar as it is inviolate: invading it turns to torment. Reach out to others courteously: accept their reaching in the same way, with careful hands.' That is one of the Tenets of Surak, which I will begin to teach you. We will begin with this lesson since it is pertinent to our discussion."

"Who's Surak?" asked the boy, trying to get his mind around the long quote.

Back on secure ground, Spock began the tale of the great Vulcan leader, explaining the long, barbaric history of his people who were on the point of annihilation when Surak offered them another way. Sapel sat wide-eyed throughout the tale, asking questions here and there, and silently absorbing his father's words.

"So, you see, _cha'i_ , when you become aware that there is a need for privacy, you must try to close your mind and your senses to what is happening. In a normal environment, on either Earth or Vulcan or hundreds of other worlds where people live, this would not be a problem, because we would live in a house with private rooms. But here we must imagine those walls and erect mental barriers to achieve privacy. Do you understand now?"

Sapel nodded slowly. "I think so, Papa. I'll try."

"Very good," Spock answered with a small smile. "Now, we must begin our hunt. Which animal would you choose?"

"I don't know, Papa. There are so many."

"Then I will tell you. I am after an antelope today. Not a buck, because their meat is tough and stringy this time of year. They have just come off winter feed and have not fattened up yet. Not a doe because she is most likely nursing a fawn and it would be cruel and unnecessary to orphan the fawn."

"Won't one of the other mamas feed it?" Sapel asked.

"No," Spock answered. "A doe will only care for her own offspring. An orphaned fawn will die very soon thereafter, either by starvation or more likely falling prey to one of the predators. No, what we are hunting today is a yearling. It is grown, but the meat is still tender and it has most likely continued to nurse a bit until this year's fawn is born and the mother rejects it."

"Isn't it cruel to kill a yearling, too, Papa?" the boy wondered.

"We kill to survive, Sapel," Spock replied. "The meat sustains us, the hide clothes us, and we use other parts for various things. Very little goes to waste. I dislike being forced to kill another living being. It is abhorrent to my way of life, to _d'Vel'nahr_. But logic dictates that is necessary and therefore is not wrong in such a case. Now, wait here and watch. I hope that this will not take too long."

Spock gathered his bow and quiver of arrows and set out in a roundabout path toward the herds, moving low and silently until he was within striking range. Within about half an hour, he had crept close enough to be able to pick a target among the herds, a young, healthy yearling buck that had wandered to the edge of the herd and was more intent on grazing than watching for danger.

Sapel saw his father nock an arrow and draw his bow back, taking aim.

He never saw the flight of the arrow itself, only saw it suddenly sprout in the buck's ribcage and the animal give a compulsive leap in the air. The rest of the herd reacted instantaneously, bursting into a stampede of bawling bodies and dust. The wounded buck tried to follow, but went down almost immediately.

Spock was already running toward the buck and Sapel saw him draw his knife from the scabbard at his side, but the animal was dead, shot through the heart. Spock straightened, beckoning to Sapel to join him.

The boy slipped off the rock outcropping and raced to his father's side. Spock had squatted back down and was gently working the arrow out of the antelope's side. Once he had it extracted, Spock cleaned the blood off with a handful of grass and slipped it back into the quiver, then he looked over at his son.

"Let's get this back to your mother in camp," he said. "She will be pleased to see us return so soon."

"Okay, Papa, but first I require Privacy," Sapel announced and turned to walk a few feet away.

For a second Spock was puzzled then he saw his son fumbling with his loincloth and understood. Dutifully, Spock turned his back and blocked any notice of Sapel's actions, glad that his son could not see the eyebrow he raised in irony and amusement.

* * *

Christine smiled faintly as she felt large, warm hands press a cold compress against her forehead, but she didn't dare open her eyes and risk upsetting the delicate equilibrium she and her stomach had managed to obtain.

"Better?" Spock asked softly.

"Mmmm..." She gave a little sigh and continued to breathe evenly.

"It should pass soon," he said in the deep, husky voice that made her feel wrapped in lamb's‑wool and down. If only he knew how much he comforted her when she was sick and it was a battle just to keep her head from falling off her shoulders! His gentle chuckle sounded in her mind. _But I do know, adun'i t'hy'la_ , his voice whispered.

She cracked open an eye at that point and pinned him with a withering look. "Then you also know I'm about to barf my guts up," she murmured, but tempered a bit with amusement.

"Indeed. I find your nausea the most distressing thing about your pregnancy," he answered, smiling sympathetically. "It is a definite negative in a marital bondlink. I have often wondered if my father shared my mother's—"

"Spock! Shut up!"

"Yes, my wife. I have no desire to distress you further." He settled back cross-legged on the furs beside her, watching to make sure she was all right.

Sapel finished his breakfast by the hearth and put his bowl down, coming over to join his parents. "Mama? You okay?"

"Sapel, don't bother your mother—"

"It's okay, Spock," she interrupted. "Yes, sweetie, I'm okay."

The boy squatted down to peer closer at his mother's pale face. "Why's your baby makin' you sick, Mama?" he asked.

"Because my body's not used to having it there," she answered. "It thinks the baby's a germ or virus that doesn't belong there and my body is fighting it."

"You gonna be sick all the time?" He looked distinctly worried. He didn't like it when either of his strong, seemingly invincible parents were felled by illness.

Christine smiled gently at him. "No, honey. In a couple of weeks, my body will understand that it's okay for the baby to be there and I'll feel fine. In fact, I'll feel fine in an hour or so and can get up. But right now I need to rest."

Spock took the hint and got to his feet. "Come, Sapel, I want you to help me find a straight sapling today. I'm going to make a new hunting spear. Let's leave your mother in peace and let her sleep a bit more."

"Okay, Papa." Sapel suddenly leaned over and kissed Christine awkwardly on the side of her face. "I hope you feel better soon, Mama."

She smiled radiantly at him. "I already do, sweet boy."

Embarrassed now by his impulsive action, Sapel vaulted to his feet and raced outside. Spock knelt back down and bent over his wife, taking her hand and bringing it up to his lips. "We won't go far," he said. "If you need me, _send_. I will keep my mental barriers low and will come immediately."

"I know, love. Don't worry about me. I'll be up and about by the time you get back." She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back and then rose and strode from the cave. Christine sighed and gulped as her stomach did a little dance of protest. Closing her eyes again, she pressed the wet compress against her forehead and willed herself into calmness and serenity and for her nausea to fade and leave her in peace for another day.

* * *

"Good, but not great. Say them again," Christine instructed Sapel. She continued to work at scraping the hide she had stretched between poles underneath the shade tree.

He rolled his eyes heavenward in appeal. It was a fine early summer day and there were a hundred things he would rather be doing, but, knowing he would not be allowed any of them until he finished his lessons, he began to laboriously recite, "A ... B ... C ... D..." He got through the alphabet this time and smiled in triumph at his mother's satisfied nod.

"Now in Vulcan," came his father's voice behind him. Spock continued past with the load of firewood he carried.

"Aw, Papa!" Sapel protested. "There's too many of 'em!"

" _S'ti ht'laktra_ ," Spock replied dryly and dropped the wood on the pile of new-cut wood deposited here to season.

"What? Papa, you know I can't talk Vulcan," Sapel whined.

"I said 'I grieve with thee', and you will 'talk Vulcan', as you so quaintly put it. Now, recite the Vulcan letter families."

"You don't make Mama do it," the boy hedged.

"That is because Mama does not possess the physical ability to do it. The Human larynx cannot properly form certain sounds essential to spoken Vulcan," Spock replied.

Sapel brightened, thinking he saw a way out. "Well, I can't either!" he announced.

Spock was not impressed, but stood as straight and immovable as the oak they were under and folded his arms, waiting. His elevated eyebrow was all the answer Sapel got or needed.

The boy moaned in protest and began. It was a long and painful process, for both the one reciting and the one listening.

Even Christine could see the expression of anguish that slowly crept over her husband's carefully blank features. She felt a great deal of sympathy for Sapel, for speaking Vulcan was like having your tongue tied in a knot. Undoubtedly being born into a society of native speakers facilitated its usage, but attempting to learn it without being immersed in it could be an exercise in futility. And perhaps Sapel was right ... perhaps he simply could not speak it properly.

Still the boy persevered and got through the basics. He peered at his father expectantly, but Spock remained silent for another moment. Finally he said, "Adequate. You mangled the second grouping, however. We will work further on that."

Sapel's face fell. "Now?" he quavered.

Christine shot Spock a mute plea on their son's behalf and Spock's stance softened. "No, not right now. I interrupted your reading lesson. I ask forgiveness, my wife. Please continue." He started back toward the creek, where he had been chopping brush and saplings.

Sapel looked after him, in obvious agony. Christine took pity. "All right. I can see that I'm not going to get anything else out of you. School's out."

"Yippee!!" Sapel leaped to his feet and raced after his father.

She shook her head and returned to scraping the hide. It was a small one, the pelt of a hare, one of a great many that she had cured and stored. Not very good for clothing, but useful for the miscellaneous small leather goods they always needed. She'd been contemplating whether she could make baby clothing out of them or perhaps sew several together to form a blanket.

Sapel's lessons were prominent in her mind as well. One of the real obstacles in teaching him to read and write was the fact that they had no books or paper. The previous winter, while they were living at Sea Home, she had searched for some substitute but had only come up with a slate and chalky limestone fragments to begin teaching him his letters. It worked but not well.

She had been turning the problem over in her mind, wondering what she could use to produce reading material for him. There were no trees here with suitable bark nor any reeds that she might be able to weave into papyrus sheets. She wanted something on which she could set down written words ... stories, poems, passages from the Bible ... whatever she could pull from her memory.

Pursing her lips in thought, she continued to work her shell scraper over the creamy leather, smoothing it, softening it, making it pliable and usable.

Suddenly her hands stopped their work and she stared in revelation at the pelt, flat and pale in color. She abruptly had a vision of another piece of leather that she had seen once in a museum. It was covered with crude paintings and markings, a visual record of a battle set down on antelope hide by a 19th century Cheyenne warrior.

As the proverbial light bulb went on over her head, her lips pulled into a wide grin of pure revelation. Why hadn't she thought of this before? she wondered. Turning her gaze out toward the plains that stretched away on the other side of the creek, she saw a veritable library hopping through the waving miles of grassland.

* * *

Christine stirred uneasily in her sleep, caught up in the vivid dream. She was watching a _mesohippus_ mare give birth. The animal struggled to deliver the foal, straining with powerful contractions. Christine was not a veterinarian, but she had studied obstetrics as a matter of course. Now the medical professional in her quickly analyzed the problem. The colt was too big and was possibly stuck in the vagina.

To make matters worse, Christine could see the eyes of predators in the surrounding darkness. From the looks of them, they were werewolves, the horrors that had nearly killed Spock four years before on a winter hunting trip. They haunted the northern woods but often ventured onto the plains to take what they could catch. Now they were waiting to attack the mare or snatch the newborn foal.

The mare was aware of their presence but there was nothing she could do. Her body was caught in its most vulnerable time and she was committed to the birth process. She strained again and this time Christine saw feet appear from her vagina. With another strong heave, the colt was out, still encased in its amniotic sac.

The mare turned immediately and began to lick and nuzzle her baby, breaking the membrane and prodding it urgently. Instincts were strong and the colt struggled to untangle its too-long legs and get to its feet. Newborn muscles wouldn't work immediately, though, and the little foal went down again and again, while its anxious mother licked it dry and snuffled it with her muzzle.

With a supreme effort, the foal finally remained standing on its wobbly legs, snorting and blinking. The mare's flanks shuddered again and she delivered the afterbirth and birth fluids. Normally she would have disposed of them, but now she was too frightened by the slowly advancing predators. She nudged her colt and he took an uncertain step, then another as strength began to flow into his long legs.

The mare looked around anxiously for an escape route, but the werewolves were closing in. She turned from one direction to another, but they were all around her now. The scent of blood was strong in the air and it inflamed the wolves' hunting instincts.

One abruptly pounced and the colt died in its crushing jaws before it was even aware of the danger. Triggered by the move, the other wolves leapt in at once, and the mare went down under their assault with a terrified scream. It sounded Human.

Then there was only the snarling and ripping sounds as the predators feasted and fought.

Christine came awake with a start, her heart pounding and her breath short. Spock, startled awake by her abrupt mental activity, rolled over and raised up on one elbow, laying his other hand on her trembling shoulder. " _T'hy'la_ , what is it?" he asked in a whisper. "Are you ill?"

She shook her head and tried to calm herself. "Just a bad dream," she answered.

"About the baby?" he persisted.

"No." More shaken than she wanted to admit, she rolled to face him and slid her arm across his ribs and around to his back, burying her face against his chest.

He pulled her close to him and held her, feeling her turmoil through their bond. He had not picked up the dream, having strengthened his mental shields after the last time. Now he wished he had experienced her dream in order to be able to calm her.

Gradually, her trembling stopped but she continued to hold him. He sent generally soothing thoughts to her and felt her respond. When he felt she was ready, he asked softly, "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Oh, it was just a nightmare," she murmured back. "I dreamed I saw a mare give birth and then wolves killed them both."

He stroked her hair. "Undoubtedly a subconscious anxiety about your own baby," he said. "You fear losing this child as with Soran. You were about at the same point in that pregnancy, if I recall correctly. I believe the wolves represent the forces of nature that we face daily, but which are particularly fearsome to you now."

"I had no idea you were a soothsayer," she smiled, snuggling into his warm chest and feeling the dark crisp hair tickle her cheek.

Stroking her hair again, he said quietly, "And my prediction now is that you will go back to sleep and have only pleasant dreams. Because I will make sure that you are safe and no harm comes to our child."

She hugged him close. "I love you, Spock," she whispered.

"As I do you, my _t'hy'la_ ," he replied. "Sleep now."

Warm and protected in his strong arms, Christine slipped back into slumber. If she had more dreams that night, she did not remember them.

* * *

The making of ink proved to be harder than Christine had anticipated. Starting with a base of charcoal from the hearth, ground into a fine powder, she searched for a binder that would be suitable. Mixed with water, it was a disaster and she realized that she needed something to thicken and hold the soot particles. Saliva worked fairly well, but there was a limit to how much spit and, therefore, how much ink she could produce that way. She abandoned that approach and went back to searching for a substance that would blend with water and combine into a paste that could be thinned down as needed.

Spock suggested plant sap or resin and Christine pursued that avenue, collecting various samples during the day as she went about her food gathering, and then experimenting at night until she finally gave up in exhaustion and went to bed.

This night she had worked late, convinced that she was on the right track with a pine gum, water and charcoal mixture, and Spock had already put Sapel to bed. Now he came and stood over her. "Enough for tonight, Christine. It will be here in the morning."

"I really think this is it," she answered, adding a little more water to the thick mixture.

He squatted down and caught her wrists. "Enough!" he repeated softly. "You are tired and pursuing this with your usual relentless determination. It is necessary that you rest ... for both your sake and the baby's."

That stopped her and she looked ruefully up to meet his eyes. "You're right," she admitted and gently pulled out of his grip in order to put away her mixing tools. Then, turning her hands over to look at them, she laughed. "I'm as black as this charcoal I've been handling. I think I'll go down to the pond and have a bath before I turn in."

"Excellent idea," he agreed. "A swim will relax you."

He stood and then caught her hands, pulling her to her feet. She laughed again and said, "Perhaps you'd better join me. I've gotten this stuff all over you now!"

He cocked an eyebrow as he examined the coating of soot his hands sported. "I believe you are right." He moved to catch a large piece of chamois they used as a towel and wiped the majority of the dust from his hands. "There ... let me help you undress so you won't smudge your clothing so badly."

She stood while he pulled her leather tunic over her head and helped her off with her leggings and loincloth. Spock paused to let his gaze roam over her naked body, golden in the light of the fire. Her breasts were already a bit larger than normal and her abdomen was just beginning to show a hint of the roundness to come.

With wonder suffusing his face, he placed one large hand against her stomach, hoping to feel movement within her, to experience the life she carried. Smiling, she reached up to caress his face, unwittingly leaving a dark smudge on his cheek. "It's too early yet, Spock," she whispered. "I'm only about three months along."

He bent to kiss her, long and gently, his love for her spreading through her like honey. Then, as he pulled back, he glanced down and almost chuckled. There was a dark handprint adorning her belly now. She _did_ laugh at that and said, "Now I really need a bath. I'll meet you there."

Finding another chamois and a lump of their crude homemade soap, she went out into the darkness of the summer night. Spock checked on Sapel, then quickly shed his own clothing, grabbed the spear propped beside the door and then wedged the door-guard into place. It was a warm, clear night, the moons at crescent phase in the west and the stars scattered overhead like diamonds.

Gentle splashing told Spock that Christine was already in the water as he went down the path to their pond. Placing the spear where he could get at it should he need it, Spock waded into the water, as always shocked for a moment by the coolness of initial contact.

Then his body adjusted and he strode out to where he could see his wife waist deep in the dark water, its surface glimmering in the starlight. He moved up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, savoring the feel of her warm, naked skin against his own. She snuggled against him in return, then twisted in his arms to face him, and they spent a long time exchanging kisses and caressing one another.

After a time, Spock said, "Perhaps we should finish our baths before we forget what we came here for."

She could already feel his substantial erection pressed against her groin and chuckled. "I think you knew from the start what we came here for."

He made a non-committal sound and stepped back away from her. "Where is the soap?"

"On that rock."

He retrieved it and dipped it into the water, rubbing it vigorously between his palms to generate lather, then smoothed it over her shoulders and arms. She did the same for him and scrubbed the bubbles over his chest and stomach. Reciprocating, he moved his hands over her chest, carefully avoiding her breasts, then turned her and did her back.

"Oh, that feels good," she murmured as he massaged her shoulders and worked his big strong hands down her backbone. She placed her hands against one of the big rocks that protruded up from the bottom of the pond and broke the surface of the pond, leaning forward and anchoring herself. He took advantage of the invitation she offered and rubbed his soapy hands over the curves of her buttocks.

Not content with that now, he slipped his hands up around her torso and slicked lather over her breasts, gently massaging and squeezing as his palms moved over the stiff nubs of her nipples. She moaned and thrust her hips a bit closer in his direction and he moved nearer to her, snuggling his groin against her bottom.

In response, she stepped farther apart, opening for him. His manhood ached to be in her, but he wanted to tease her a bit more. Slipping one hand down her smooth belly, he reached to discover the hot folds of her center and his fingers explored the thicket of rough hair and then the amazingly soft lips below it, finding and fondling the sensitive mound of flesh between them. Even under water, he could feel the hot, slick juices she released as she groaned in response, and he probed deeper to find the source.

Christine was rubbing her buttocks against him as she wended her way to a blissful state of arousal and it served to erode all the controls he had put up between them. The head of his penis pulsed madly as it nudged between her folds and, almost of its own accord, pushed its way to lodge against her gateway. Her erotic exhilaration, heightened by engorgement of her pregnancy swollen female organs, shot through their mindbond to engulf him, sending him to teeter on the verge of a sexual excitement that rivaled the _plak tow_ in its intensity.

Sensing the frenzy of the blood fever igniting within him like a hearthfire gone mad, Spock gave in to the inevitable, moving his hands to steady her hips, and drove a powerful lunge forward with his own.

She gave a small cry as his rigid length suddenly filled her and bent forward even more to give him better access. So deep had his initial thrust taken him that he could feel himself bumping against the barrier of her cervix and the unexpected touch so fully within her seemed to set her aflame. Squirming against his wondrous impalement, she moaned in ecstasy and urged him on, her body gripping his like a glove of liquid fire.

The need to move overwhelmed him and his hips began to thrust against her, softly at first then with increasing vigor and speed. He let himself go and pumped into her hot depths with abandon, her wild passion and rapturous arousal serving to wrap him in the same charged emotions. He gripped her around her waist and rode her with almost animal fervor, but she was far beyond protesting, so lost in a building climax that she was near to screaming with the intensity of it.

His veneer of civilization fell away and the savagery of his ancestors surfaced before he quite realized what was happening. Suddenly they were both as much a part of this prehistoric world as the bison and deer that roamed here, wild and free and unbound. They both felt it, reveled in it, and the ferocity of the moment sent Spock past the limits of his control.

Slamming his hips into her so hard it lifted her off her feet, he erupted with a massive orgasm, pumping into her for an endless time while she peaked with a high keen of exaltation.

Then it was over and he was bent over her back, panting with exhaustion, sweat dripping off his torso onto hers. Stunned, she slowly brought herself back to the present and mentally felt him doing the same, sorting his jumbled thoughts back into their usual order. Aware that he was essentially lying atop her, he quickly straightened, withdrawing from her trembling body, and asked in concern, "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," she answered, although she felt a bit dizzy as the blood volume in her body readjusted itself to normal levels. "Gods, that was incredible!" She shuddered in reflex as electrical aftershocks pulsed through her insides. "I think I'd better sit down before I fall down!"

Quickly, solicitously, he slid an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a spot where the rocks formed a little ledge big enough for two people to sit close, still submerging them waist deep in the lapping water. He pulled her into his arms and held her, himself enervated by the intense sexual activity, and for a long time they snuggled together, enjoying the quiet of the night.

* * *

Christine wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and leaned back against the trunk of the shade tree. The day had been oppressive, the air heavy and still. High humidity had her practically dripping but she was engrossed in her writing project and didn't want to stop.

Spock and Sapel were off hunting and she was taking advantage of the quiet afternoon to put down more stories on the leather scrolls. She had finally perfected her ink and had been experimenting with various writing instruments — a sharpened quill, a horse hair brush, twigs and plant stems. All produced different effects and she had also begun to work with various plant materials to produce colored inks and paints.

Spock had become interested in the project as well and had been setting down Vulcan legends in _w'l'quanno_ , the flowing vertical script of his people. She was learning to read it along with Sapel and loved to watch as he plied the brush to the parchment and the magical figures appeared. Christine was reminded of Japanese brush writing, for he worked in graceful, fluid motions, each one precise and measured.

He wrote in English as well, his nearly photographic memory holding entire texts that Christine couldn't hope to remember. Studying what he had written, she realized that, except for his signature on orders and reports and the occasional scribbled note on a duty board, she had never seen his handwriting. It wasn't surprising to find that he wrote in English in the same neat, ordered hand as he did in Vulcan. The letters were perfectly formed, yet unmistakably his own, masculine and unadorned, slanting a bit to the right, for he was right-handed, put down with a bit more force than a woman would write them.

Comparing her handwriting to his, Christine made a rueful face. Her script was sloppier, reflecting her impulsive attitude and impatience with things. She sighed and dipped her pen again into the ink, turning back to what she was writing. The leather sheet was spread flat on Sapel's slate and supported in her lap. It had taken her a little maneuvering to find a comfortable position, now that her abdomen was beginning to protrude more, but she had finally achieved a workable set-up and had been laboriously writing down the 23rd Psalm, one of the few passages from the Bible that she knew straight through. To keep herself focused, she recited as she wrote:

"...yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..."

She had been dismayed at the start of her project to discover how little of the Bible she actually could quote. She knew bits and pieces, dredged from her memory of childhood religious training, but she couldn't pin down much more than that. Fortunately, Spock's encyclopedic knowledge filled in the gaps, although his information came from simple academic study of the book and not a religious conviction to it.

He could, instead, quote all of the Tenets of Surak without missing a beat and, if he'd put his mind to it, could have recited the Starfleet Regulations Manual straight through, although even he admitted there was not much point in such an exercise. Being able to quote precisely the proper length of a dress uniform and the placement of military decorations on said uniform did not have much practical application in the current situation.

Christine had broken into hysterical laughter at the image of Spock, attired immaculately in his dress tunic and medals ... over buckskin trousers and a loin cloth. And he had, in turn, pointed out that she would be as comical in a satin dress accessorized with moccasins and a water bag fashioned from a deer's stomach.

She smiled again at the memory and concentrated on her writing. "...for Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me..."

A faint wisp of breeze ruffled her hair and she looked up, hoping that there was relief on the horizon, but it was only a tease. What she did see on the horizon, far to the northwest over the tips of the mountain peaks, was a long gray bank of clouds, stretching as far in each direction as she could observe. A front, perhaps. Maybe they would get some rain and it would cool off a bit.

Once more, sweat trickled down her temple and she wiped it away, going back to her project. "...Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over..."

* * *

" _Wide experience increases wisdom, provided the experience is not sought purely for the stimulation of sensation_ ," Spock quoted as Sapel sat solemnly facing his father. They were engaged in another lesson on the teachings of Surak and Spock was just beginning to warm up to his subject. "Do you understand what this means, Sapel?"

The boy dropped his gaze for a few seconds than answered, "We shouldn't go looking for stuff just 'cause it's there?"

"Hmmmm ... not exactly," the older Vulcan mused. "Surak means here that we should cherish all that we encounter in life and all that happens to us, because each experience adds to our knowledge, but that we should not deliberately seek to make such experiences happen purely for the sake of having lived through them."

Sapel thought that over. "But if we learn from everything we do, isn't doing it a good thing?"

"It depends," Spock replied. "For instance, you would certainly learn from the experience of falling out of a tree, but is this something you would actively seek to do, just so that you could say that you'd done it?"

"No, but that's a silly example," Sapel answered. "Who'd deliberately climb up a tree and then fall out of it? That's stupid."

"How do you know that?" Spock prompted.

"Well, you'd get hurt for one thing," the boy retorted.

"And how do you know you'd get hurt?"

"Cause I fell off a rock once and it hurt—" Suddenly Sapel's brown eyes widened in understanding. "I learned that falling off things hurt and I shouldn't fall out of trees because of that!" he declared.

"Exactly," his father answered, pleased. "You learned from the experience of falling off the rock. Therefore, it was unnecessary to repeat the experience in a tree. You learned the wisdom of experience, _cha'i_."

"But won't that make you afraid of doing anything?"

"No," Spock answered. "On the contrary, it makes us unafraid of new experiences. We know that we will add to our wisdom and therefore can look forward to new experiences with eagerness. However, because we learn, we begin to differentiate between worthwhile happenings and those which are dangerous and foolish."

"Like not stickin' your hand in fire or knowing to be careful with a knife," Sapel suggested thoughtfully.

"Precisely."

Spock straightened as a light breeze shifted his long black hair about his face. The heavy humidity of the afternoon had been quite uncomfortable, one of the reasons he had chosen to rest with his son in the shade while he taught this lesson. Now, hopeful of a change in the weather, he scanned the horizon and studied the bank of clouds lying there.

Towers of cumulus were beginning to build into the dull blue sky all along the front and what he could see of the bases were dark and ominous with rain. The squall line was still quite far away and did not present any immediate danger, but Spock resolved to keep an eye on it. He and Sapel had come a long way this morning in search of game and it would take them more than an hour of brisk travel to get home. They had snared a clutch of small game — two hares and a small, plump ground-dwelling bird — and Spock decided to wrap up his instruction and start for home.

"Surak teaches us another thing with this saying," he resumed. "Can you tell me what that is?"

Sapel puzzled but couldn't come up with an answer. Spock, his intuition of danger beginning to tickle the back of his mind, did not prolong the questioning. " _The experience is not sought purely for the stimulation of sensation_ ," he said. "Never should you do something purely for stimulation. That is not the Vulcan way. We are forced to compromise here in some ways, but such a teaching still applies. For instance, we have hunted and killed these animals because it is necessary for our survival, but hunting and killing for pleasure is an abomination. We reverence the lives of these creatures and deprive them of that life in order to sustain our own. But you must never feel pleasure in doing so. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Papa," the boy answered. "But aren't there things that we do because we like them and which aren't bad to do?"

Spock cast a glance once more at the clouds. The front seemed closer. "There are such things, Sapel, but we do not have time today to discuss them. We will continue this conversation another time. Right now, we must start for home. I fear that the weather is going to catch us as it is. We must make haste."

The boy took in the looming wall of building clouds and saw, very far away, the flash of lightning from the base of one thunderhead. He also felt his father's urgency and quickly gathered his miniature hunting instruments together, then fell in beside Spock, trotting to keep up with his parent's long-legged stride.

* * *

Christine was feeling decidedly uneasy as she stood on the western side of the valley and strained to see any sign of her husband and son. The long, seemingly endless line of clouds had advanced across the plains and grown higher and more ominous as it did so. Far out ahead of the main front, the anvils off the huge storm cells stretched out to cover the sky, dimming the sunlight.

Behind them, the towers continued to build along the squall line, shooting up so fast that she could see their movements with the naked eye. Lightning crackled and flared almost constantly in the boiling white masses and the rumble of thunder reached her now, although it was still a long way off. Worst of all, the sky had taken on a weird greenish tint, something that Christine knew meant hail. This was going to be a bad one.

Again, she searched for any sign across the distance of moving objects that might be the two people she sought. But all she could see were the animal herds, restless and beginning to seek shelter, and the endless waving miles of grasses, billowing in the wind like a golden sea.

A sudden gust of strong, cold wind washed over her, nearly knocking her off her feet with its strength, and below her, in the valley, she could hear her tanning poles go down and things begin to blow about. The downburst off the lead storm cell had slammed into the ground beneath it and was curling outward in all directions. She could see the dust and debris whirling as the heavy outflow spread out like water.

Lightning forked downward out of the storm, the crash of thunder following it a second later. Too close for comfort. Christine decided that standing on this hill was a very dangerous place to be and she turned and hurried down into the valley.

Spock and Sapel were nowhere in sight and she could only hope that they had holed up somewhere until the storm passed. Meanwhile, she quickly made her way down to their campsite and began snatching up tools and materials that were blowing about in the wind, getting them inside before the downpour started.

She was still hard at work when the first huge raindrops began thudding into the ground around her and the storm hit with all its fury.

* * *

The strong gust front of cold air knocked Sapel off his feet and he went down into the grass with a cry. Instantly, Spock crouched and pulled him up and into his arms, holding him tightly against the rush of the wind whipping about them. Thunder shook the ground beneath them as lightning split overhead.

Continuing to squat low, Spock turned his gaze on the storm building above them and knew that they were only minutes away from being caught in the deluge that blackened the turbulent cloud base. He could already see a strong, thick rain shaft falling just to their north but his attention was held by the odd greenish hue the clouds had assumed. Dark scud clouds were streaming past the rain shaft, moving strangely fast and seeming to form a perimeter around the lead storm cloud. In fact, the entire gigantic cloud appeared to be turning ponderously, tightening. Spock didn't know what it meant, but something within him screamed "danger".

Then something else seized his notice and he stared, both perplexed and fascinated at what the clouds were doing. In the clear area behind the rain shaft, a large, striated section of the cloud base had begun to drop somewhat, hanging thick and gray like a gigantic flat cylinder. Lightning struck out of it repeatedly, thunder rolling almost unceasingly, and the black scud was now moving at a right angle to it, being whipped to shreds. The wind had turned around and was blowing strongly back toward the ugly lowering, the updraft sucking air and dust back into it.

Then, out of the flat-based lowering, there appeared the tip of a writhing conical formation, twisting like a thing alive, wreathed with smaller, parasitic tails that appeared and dissipated in a mad dance around the lengthening parent.

Realization struck Spock with a sickening blow and he abruptly knew what he was witnessing. Though he had never encountered anything like it in all his travels, he had read of it and seen holos of the phenomenon. He knew without doubt that he was seeing the birth of a tornado.

Gripped with fear, he hugged Sapel harder against him and felt the boy begin to cry in terror. But both were frozen where they crouched against the wind, too caught up in the horrible and fascinating apparition to move.

On the ground beneath the wall cloud, dust spun up in a mad spiral, although nothing appeared to connect the two. Then a thin, ropy form appear out of the bottom of the hanging funnel and began to move downward. At the same time, the dust swirl grew higher as the wind's velocity increased, the twister finding its voice in a screaming roar of blasting winds, and a shell of debris spiraled upward around the rope until it reached cloud base. Within seconds, the condensation funnel solidified and was complete, a huge cylinder of lightning, rain and destruction, chewing up all in its path as it headed their way.

"Heya save us," Spock whispered to himself, unaware that he had evoked the Vulcan deity of legend.

 _Get to a low spot_ , something told him and he looked around wildly for shelter, but there was nothing. No creeks or gullies traversed this part of the plains and the grasslands undulated away, featureless on either side. The only thing he could see at all was a buffalo wallow, a depression worn into the sandy ground where the huge beasts took their almost daily dust baths.

Rain was already beginning to fall around him, adding its pounding drum to the dull, deep roar of the twister as it tore its way along beneath the fast-moving thunderstorm. Leaping up, Spock made an awkward dash for the wallow, Sapel clutched hard against him. It wasn't far, but still the downpour caught them as Spock dove into the sparse shelter, throwing Sapel down flat and stretching himself out belly-down over the child, covering him with his body, protecting the back of his own head with his hands.

Buckets of hard, icy rain hammered down, thrumming into him and soaking him within a minute. Then something like a fist struck him in the back and then another and another. Within seconds, hail was pummeling him unmercifully. Spock could do nothing except squirm closer against the side of the wallow and keep his head covered as best he could, thanking the gods that the hailstones were only an inch or two across and not the lethal baseball-sized missiles that were possible in storms this size.

The hail lasted only a minute and then that part of the storm moved away, along with the rain, but still Spock dared not move. For the air was now filled with the howling roar of the cyclone and the rain and hail had been replaced with things even more deadly — the whipping debris and dust rocketing about the tornado's funnel as it moved across the landscape, pulverizing everything it encountered.

Dirt, chunks of rock and detonated bits of trees blasted over the huddled form, ripping at his clothing, driving needles of debris into his body, scouring his exposed skin with its sandpaper ferocity.

And then there was an explosion of pain that eradicated all else around him and Spock's world went totally black.

* * *

Christine was still struggling to gather the outside supplies when she was caught by the downpour, so thick that she could barely see the big shade tree whipping in the high wind. Abruptly, something crashed into the ground next to her, then another and another. Without warning, hail was pounding down with a roar, stripping the leaves from the tree and setting up a din that nearly drowned out the thunder that boomed and rumbled constantly.

Crying out as the fists of ice hammered her, Christine struggled to get to the shelter of the cave. She fell several times, knocked nearly senseless by the hailstones, slipping in the mud. She couldn't see the cave opening through the blinding sheet of rain and groped ineffectively along the rock ledge, eyes closed and head bowed against the deluge.

In the back of her mind, she desperately hoped that Spock and Sapel were not caught in the storm's fury. She could feel desperate concern through the light link of the mindbond, but nothing else. Then, alarmingly, the link disappeared.

Faltering at this sudden cessation, for a second she failed to note that the hail had stopped and the rain slackened as the storm moved across the valley to the northeast. Then, blinking streaming water out of her eyes, she saw the cave opening just ahead of her and struggled toward it.

But there was still something wrong. The wind hadn't dropped. Indeed, it had risen in fury and behind her Christine could hear the shade tree groaning and thrashing in the wind. A bombardment of leaves and twigs and dirt replaced the hail and rain, blown nearly horizontal on the increasing wind. Worse, underlying it all was a deep, almost subsonic roar that didn't sound like thunder. Her skin prickling, she froze for a second, trying to identify it, then with a realization like a physical blow, she recognized the sound.

She'd been raised on Earth in the Ohio River valley and had seen Midwest thunderstorms rumble through the area every spring and summer. There was a spring she had nearly forgotten, when she was a very little girl ... a spring with one horrifying evening when she'd huddled in the basement with her mother and sisters and listened to a roar like that, like a freighter thundering over the house, shaking the structure around them and splintering trees and lumber and metal in its rage before it passed into the distance. They emerged later to find a path of destruction that had nearly obliterated their neighborhood, though their own home had been miraculously spared.

Panic seized her now and her immediate instinct was to dive for the basement stairs — and then realized a split-second later that, of course, there were none. But the urge to get as deep underground as possible was paramount and in the next second she was flinging herself toward the cave entrance with a strength born of desperation.

The ground underneath her shuddering with the force of the cyclone, Christine raced for the entrance, her breath sucked away by the fierce wind and the debris flying through it. Behind her, she heard the big shade tree snap in two like a gigantic bone breaking.

There wasn't time to think about it, nor time to barricade the door, nor time to do anything else but scramble away from the opening, then even that proved too late. The roar of the twister filled the room and then voracious winds set everything in their living quarters flying, blasting it all to fragments. For a frantic instant, Christine thought that the vortex would pull her into the maelstrom of debris as well.

Then suddenly, in the midst of the terror and chaos, a white-hot pain tore through her upper back and right shoulder and she was slammed to the floor, oblivious to the swirling hell around her.

* * *

"Papa! Papa, wake up!"

Gradually, Sapel's voice penetrated the fog that filled Spock's brain. The boy was still lying pinned underneath him and was pushing with all his might to move his father's crushing weight off him. He had managed to squirm out enough to breathe, but now he pounded with his small fists on Spock's arm and shoulder.

Spock lifted himself up with a groan so that Sapel could wriggle free, then nearly blacked out again as a terrible pain shot through the back of his head. Gingerly reaching up, he found his hair wet and sticky, matted together with congealed blood.

Managing to get his eyes open a crack, he found his fingers dripping with dark green liquid and discovered that Sapel was also splattered liberally. It took Spock a moment longer before he understood that Sapel wasn't hurt, remembering that his son bled crimson instead of green.

Spock tried to get up, but went down immediately onto his hands and knees as the lightning blast of pain struck him again. His stomach revolted at the vertigo and for a few long minutes he vomited uncontrollably.

When nothing more would come, he collapsed into the mud of the buffalo wallow and lay for some time, trying to get his thoughts to settle down, trying to control the pain, trying to evaluate his injuries. Sapel huddled next to him, sniffling softly in shock and fear.

After a while, Spock managed to gain enough control of his pain to work his way through a mental checklist. His head ached abominably and he decided that some flying piece of debris had struck him hard enough to knock him out. He was obviously concussed, for when he tried to open his eyes, his vision was blurred and maddeningly double, and he felt exhausted and confused. It was an effort to think.

Other than his head, he had sustained a number of smaller injuries. His back, shoulders, hips and legs were terribly bruised from the pounding hail and he could feel innumerable places where smaller pieces of debris had been driven into his skin. And the soaking rain had left him chilled and shivering. That might be due to shock as well.

When he could extend his thoughts a bit further, he reached out and touched Sapel's leg. "Are you hurt?" he asked, wincing at the effort it took to speak.

The boy sobbed and answered in a small voice, "I don't know. Papa, I'm scared!"

"I need you to tell me ... uh ... if you hurt anywhere," Spock insisted, his eyes tightly closed to alleviate the pounding pain.

Sapel was silent for a moment then said, "I think I'm okay, Papa. Oh, Papa, I don't know what to do!"

"We need ... to get home ... to Mama," Spock grated through clenched teeth. He latched onto that thought. Christine was a nurse, her training so extensive that she qualified as a doctor in most respects. They had to make it home. Christine would know how to treat his injuries. If he could just get up and get moving...

"Sapel ... see if you can find ... my spear," Spock directed his son. It was sturdy enough that he could use it as a walking stick, lean on it.

For an indefinable period of time ... minutes, days, weeks ... Spock lay nearly insensate, drifting in and out of consciousness, then suddenly Sapel was shaking him again. "I couldn't find it, Papa," the boy said.

Spock roused himself a little. Find what? he wondered. Then he remembered that he had sent his son on an errand and that only a few minutes had passed.

"I found this, though," Sapel continued and Spock managed to focus on what the boy held. Sapel had found a slender limb nearly as tall as Spock himself, a piece of debris dropped by the raging wind.

"Good boy," he murmured and reached out to grasp the makeshift staff. With an effort, he got onto his knees, then laboriously managed to stand. The world wheeled around him and he thought he must be falling, but when his head settled down again, he was still clutching the tree limb and was still on his feet.

Home ... they had to make it home... Then, with dismay, Spock realized he didn't remember which way home was. His dazed brain simply would not identify any landmarks or directions.

Looking around him, Spock felt a hopelessness drift over him. Finally, he asked, "Sapel ... which way do we need to go?"

The little boy stared at his father with a shocked and frightened expression, then seemed to rally himself and take charge. His Papa was hurt and it was up to him to get them both home to Mama. Quickly, he surveyed their surroundings and spotted the familiar outline of the bluff above their valley, about a mile away.

"It's this way, Papa," he said with determination. "Don't worry. I'll help you."

Spock would have been delighted and profoundly pleased at the maturity and stamina his young son showed, but just this minute, he had his hands full putting one foot in front of the other and keeping his mind focused enough to keep from losing consciousness once again.

* * *

Christine groaned and tried to open her eyes, but they seemed to be matted shut. With an effort, she managed to get the lids of one eye slightly apart, then was confused that she couldn't see anything. She started to reach up to touch her face, but white hot pain shot through her right shoulder and arm, making her cry out at the shock of it.

She lay still and slowly assessed her situation. First, she couldn't see anything because it was pitch dark where she lay near the little "bathroom" of their cave. The tornado must have blown her there as it passed over their cavern home. Normally a little ambient light seeped in from the outer chamber, but either night had fallen or something was blocking the door. She vaguely remember the tree outside breaking in the cyclonic winds and suspected that it was lying up against the cave opening.

Second, she was injured, although how badly she couldn't tell. She was lying on her left side, nearly over on her face, and her right shoulder and upper back felt as it they had been impaled. It was likely that they had been pierced by flying debris and whatever it was could still be in the wound. She hurt too much to know. Her shoulder might also be broken, but she couldn't be sure of that either.

Her matted eyes were likely stuck closed with blood. She must have taken a scalp wound and blood had run across her face.

Her next thought was of her baby and for a number of tense moments, she turned her self‑inspection inward, searching desperately to feel movement or some sign of life within her. She had no pain there but that didn't mean much.

 _Oh, baby, please_... She begged mentally. _Please, just be all right_.

Miraculously, she felt the tiniest of butterfly wings deep within her abdomen, something she wouldn't even have noticed if she hadn't been so focused on the area.

Tears leaked out of her matted eyes and she sobbed with relief. It was all right! Cushioned in its amniotic ocean, the tiny fetus had ridden out the storm in good shape. Christine didn't know if the movement she'd felt was in response to her plea or just coincidence. Spock's baby was quite likely already endowed with the most rudimentary form of Vulcan telepathy and had felt its mother's mental call, but at the moment she didn't care one way or the other. As long as it was all right!

 _Spock! Sapel!_ Desperately, Christine tried to feel her husband's cerebral signature through their bondlink, but she felt nothing. That sent a shot of panic through her. Was he hurt? Unconscious? Or ... _Oh, please, God, no_ ... dead?

No, not dead. At the most basic level of their mindbond, she could still feel his lifeforce. Something was definitely wrong, but he was alive. She wanted to go to him, help him, but she couldn't move herself. All she could hope was that, somehow, he could make it home to her and was not hurt. Because this time she needed him to help her!

Exhausted by her mental and limited physical activity, Christine laid her face back on the rough, cold floor and slipped once more into darkness.

* * *

It had taken weeks, it seemed to Spock, but at long last, he and Sapel stood on the western rim of their little valley, looking down at the destruction that had been their home site. Spock had fallen twice on the way here, his head spinning and his vision refusing to focus, and he was forced to lie quietly each time before he could pull himself upright once more and resume the journey.

Sapel had urged him on, desperate that his father make it home, but also feeling a growing disquiet where his mother was concerned. He had always felt a mental link to her, a telepathic bond that had developed in the womb, although it was not as strong as the one projected by his father. Ever since the healing trance Spock had used to save Sapel after the water monster attack at Sea Home, he had been extremely close to the older Vulcan through the link that had formed at that time.

But now he could sense pain and confusion from his mother and it forced the boy to continue goading his father whenever he faltered. Sapel was doing his best to fight down the terror that threatened to take him, for he had never seen Spock like this.

He had come to consider his papa indestructible and infallible. It frightened him to see the man he idolized limping along, barely able to stay upright, bleeding from numerous small wounds, his brow furrowed in tortured concentration.

Nevertheless, at long last, they had traversed the way home and both of them now stood dismayed as they gazed at what the storm had left in its wake. Debris of all sorts littered the valley and the pond was scummed over with a floating cap of leaves, branches and blasted bits of wood. Worse, the huge shade tree not far from their doorway had been twisted and snapped off at its trunk and the shattered remains lay up against the cliff face, completely hiding the cave entrance.

 _Christine!_ Spock thought frantically and Sent to her through their bond, calling to her mind. Nothing answered him back and panic stabbed through him. He started down the gentle slope to the creek as quickly as he could manage, leaning on his makeshift staff for support, Sapel wanting desperately to run to his mother's aid but loyally staying at his father's side.

When they had reached area of the entrance, Spock cast aside his walking stick and steeled himself to do whatever he must. The downed tree lay on its side, its branches forming a thicket of limbs that blocked his way. Gritting his teeth and commanding his body to cooperate, Spock seized one of the bigger limbs and began pulling with all his might. His strength seemed to have left him, though, for the tree barely moved. He didn't notice Sapel pulling, too.

Spock concentrated his effort into a powerful heave and the tree shifted. It knocked the Vulcan backwards and he sprawled flat out for a long moment, panting and squeezing his eyes closed as vertigo again made him feel as if the world was spinning out from under him. After a time, he managed to sit up and open his eyes. For a few seconds, he saw double then things came back together.

His son was nowhere to be seen and Spock looked frantically around him, then unsteadily got to his feet. "Sapel!" he called loudly, terrified and confused. Sapel had been with him crossing the creek. Where was he now? Had he been swept away?

His mind was still suffering from the concussion and for a moment his short term memory went blank. He forgot why he was bothering with the tree and was only concerned in finding his little boy.

Just as Spock was about to turn and go back the way he had come, Sapel emerged from behind the forest of branches and ran to him. "Papa! I'm right here! Come on! We can get in now!"

 _Get in where?_ Spock pondered, then he remembered where he was and what had happened. _Christine!_ As fast as he could, he followed Sapel around to the where a small space had been opened between the tree and the cliff face, just enough to allow them to squeeze by and enter their cave home.

Inside it was dark and cool and nothing was where it should have been. The interior of the cave was in chaos. Out of nowhere, Spock's disordered thoughts plucked a phrase his mother had said to him once when he was very small and had scattered his toys across the floor of his bedroom: "This place looks like a tornado struck it!"

Involuntarily, a single laugh burst from him, startling Sapel who stared in disbelief up at his father. But Spock's face held anything but humor. His eyes were frantically searching the gloom and destruction for his wife's body, looking for anything that might be the form of a broken human.

He couldn't find her. "...Christine..." he whispered in a near-sob, his ravaged emotional controls beginning to fray apart. He took a step into the room, beginning to feel panic and grief overwhelm him.

A human wouldn't have heard it, but his sensitive Vulcan hearing zeroed in on the small sound that came from the side cave, the latrine area. Quickly, Spock stumbled toward it, falling over debris, the sudden action causing his tenuous hold on consciousness and concentration to waver dramatically. He went down onto his hand and knees, crawling toward the sound...

...and found his wife lying near the entry of the side cavern, covered with blood, her left arm stretched out toward the doorway as if trying to reach him when she'd passed out.

Weakness took the last grains of control out of his muscles and he collapsed just before he could get to her. His vision was tunneling down to her outstretched hand and with his last strength, he reached out and threaded his fingers through hers. That was the last thing he knew.

* * *

For a long time, Spock thought he was asleep in his own bed, but there was something very wrong with it. After a time, he became aware that he was lying on the packed dirt floor of the cave and there was a fur robe spread over him. Something warm was snuggled against his side, curled up like a small animal, and he discerned this to be Sapel, lying atop the fur, but burrowed into his father's ribs, asleep.

Spock raised his head a bit, expecting to feel pain club him senseless once more, but it had receded to a dull ache at the back of his skull. Moreover, his mind was clear again and he felt incredibly better than he had on the nightmarish journey home.

He was still aware of the intensive bruising he'd sustained and the fact that his back, hips and legs were shot through with innumerable little wounds, most of them with debris still buried in his skin. They would all have to be opened and cleaned ... eventually.

His attention turned fully now to the figure of his wife, still lying where he'd found her, but also now covered with a fur. As Spock moved, Sapel awoke and sat up, looking disoriented, then he cried, "Papa!" and threw his arms around his father's neck, hugging him fiercely.

Spock took a moment to embrace his son, sending reassuring thoughts to him through their mindlink, then gently pushed the little boy away. "Sapel, are you all right?"

"Yes, Papa. You've been asleep a long time. So has Mama. I couldn't get either one of you to wake up." He paused as his lip trembled. "You were both so cold... I found the blankets and covered you both up."

"That was exactly the right thing to do," Spock assured him. "I am very proud of you, _cha'i._ You have been extremely brave. Now, do you think you can find the water bag for me? We all need a drink of water."

"I think I know where it is." The boy stood and moved off toward the doorway. Spock could see that it was light outside, although the big tree blocked most of the illumination from the opening.

It was enough, though, and he turned quickly to his wife. "Christine," he said in a low voice, bending to stroke her blood-matted hair. He was rewarded as she opened her eyes and looked up at him with a dull, glazed expression. "How badly are you hurt?"

She moved her tongue in her dry mouth, trying to work up enough saliva to speak, but couldn't. Sapel came back with the water bag and Spock carefully dribbled a few drops across her lips. Gratefully, she licked them in and he gave her a little more, then handed the bag to his son. He knew Christine must be parched, but he didn't dare give her too much too quickly.

"Try to speak, _t'hy'la_ ," Spock said, bending over her again. "How bad is it?"

This time she managed a weak voice. "My shoulder ... back ... something's stuck in it. Think shoulder's broke."

"Don't try to move. I need a light to examine you." Spock looked around at the jumbled chaos and located one of their little oil lamps. The tallow had hardened in the bowl, the candle still clinging to its container, and he quickly pinched the twisted grass wick up high enough to light. Then he had the problem of making fire, for their hearth was buried and the embers were dead.

Working as fast as he could, Spock set the hearthstones back in order and laid kindling and tinder down, then looked for a fire starter. He couldn't find it either, then spotted the little container of scratch sticks they'd inherited from the Romulans. They had hoarded them like gold and had only used a half dozen in the whole time they'd been here. Now Spock snatched up the waterproof holder and opened it, extracting one of the chemical matches, dragging it across one of the stones to set it off.

Within minutes, he had the fire going and was feeding wood onto it, snatching it up from the various shattered pieces that littered their home. Then he lit the candle and went back to Christine's side, stepping over her into the toilet area.

Setting the candle down, he knelt at her side and gently lifted the fur off her body. His jaw tightened as he surveyed the damage. Her back and right shoulder were mangled, lividly colored with contusions and streaked black with dried blood.

Protruding from her shoulder was the broken stump of a piece of wood, possibly from the shattered shade tree, possibly blown in from somewhere else. The whole area was grossly swollen and inflamed, infection already setting in.

Spock's throat went dry when he saw the injuries his wife had sustained. He wasn't a medical professional and this called for a surgeon. That fragment would have to be removed somehow, the wound cleansed and possibly cauterized, her shoulder set and long-term recuperation prescribed. And the first thing he had to do was get her up and off this cold floor, something that was likely to be agonizing for her.

"How bad?" she asked in a small voice, aware of his silence and distress.

"It is not pretty," he admitted, attempting to play down the seriousness of the situation. He settled the fur back over her so that she would not be chilled and leaned back down so that he could see her face. "Christine ... the child..."

"Okay, as far as I can tell," she answered tiredly.

That was a relief, in any case. He stroked her forehead and stated, "I know it is uncomfortable for you, but I cannot move you just yet. I am going to prepare bedding for you, then I will attempt to block some of your pain with a mind meld before I take you there. Do you want more water?"

"Just a sip," she answered, closing her eyes, her brow knotted in pain. He put the spout of the water bag against her lips and allowed her to have another small drink. Then he set it aside and turned to the task at hand. Quickly, he and Sapel cleared out the space where the adults' bed had been and laid down several of the fur robes they used.

When Spock was satisfied, he went back to his wife and crouched beside her, pondering the best way to transport her the short distance with the least trauma to her. There wasn't any good way but he wanted to keep that shoulder as immobile as he could in the process.

"Christine, I am going to meld with you now. I will shroud you in a euphoric state, much like the one you experienced during my _pon farr_. Do you remember?"

"Yes."

"I am going to slide my arms underneath your body and lift you with as little movement as possible. Your legs will be dangling, but I cannot help that."

"Do what you have to, Spock," she answered, her eyes still shut.

He paused then pressed his fingertips into the psi points on her face and reached into her mind with his. At first it was difficult to penetrate the wall of pain but he began to contain it, to encase it in mental barriers, to make it manageable. Then he mentally took her to a place her memories told him meant comfort. She was at home in a big, old-fashioned Terran house, snuggled on a couch, wrapped in a thick afghan. There was a fire on the hearth and she was sipping steaming cocoa from a mug that she held between both hands.

He left her resting there, dozing peacefully, and gently dissolved the meld. Then, hoping that it would hold long enough, from the right side of her body he worked his hands underneath her torso, palms up, until he had her securely. Slowly standing, he lifted up his awkward burden, supporting her injured shoulder against his chest, and moved quickly and purposefully the short distance to the bed.

There he gently laid her down in the same position, the soft bedding now cushioning her. Sapel was standing by, per his father's instructions, with a couple of smaller furs, and Spock hurriedly rolled these into a pillow and a support for her shoulder.

Then he retrieved the fur she had been covered with and laid it over her. Once done, he gently touched her mind again and led her back to the present.

Coming to, she frowned and whimpered in pain and he bent to her once again. "Is there something I might give you? Some pain killer?"

"No," she murmured.

"The opium-like medicine, perhaps?"

"No, Spock! I don't know how it would affect the baby," she said through clenched teeth. "I'll be all right. Just let me rest for a bit."

He could do nothing more for the moment and allowed her to lie quietly. Turning to his son, he asked, "Have you had anything to eat, Sapel?"

"I found some dried fruit and bread."

"Then help me set things in order here. I need to find some of the soft chamois hides and the cooking bowls," Spock instructed. "Quickly now, while there is still daylight to work with. And look for your mother's steel knife as well. I may need both of them. And as many lamps and your mother's medicine pouches as you can find."

With a speed born of urgency, father and son went to work, Spock already mentally turning over the surgery he would have to perform on his wife.

* * *

Spock's hand began to tremble so badly that he stopped and pulled back from the naked body of his wife, lying unconscious, face-down before him. The steel knife in his hand had been whetted to razor-fine sharpness and sterilized in boiling water. So had the other Romulan knife and a half dozen small obsidian blades that they used for butchering and skinning prey animals.

All the oil lamps he could find were primed and burning and he had designated Sapel to refill them with rendered fat should they begin to burn low before he was finished with the delicate job before him. For the moment, though, he had sent the boy to bed, not expecting to need him for a couple of hours yet. With luck, he would be finished long before that and his son could sleep through the night.

Christine was deeply wrapped within a Vulcan mind meld, her consciousness so shut off from the real world that she was as senseless to pain as if she had been sedated with chemical anesthetics. Spock had given thought to taking her into a really deep healing trance, as he had done with Sapel, but then dismissed it. He could not wake up alone and Sapel would never be able to deliver the forceful blows that were needed to penetrate the trance. No, he would have to do for Christine what he could and then she would have to recover on her own, with only light trances to help her as when she had been injured by the buffalo bull and had miscarried so long ago.

But what made Spock hesitate now was pure fear and uncertainty. He _had_ to get that chunk of wood out of her back, make sure the wound was clear of all debris, then stitch it closed. After that, he had to set her shoulder and bandage the area snugly. In the meantime, she could bleed to death. She was already weak from blood loss and trauma and the fact that she could die beneath his hands simply unnerved him. Yet the surgery _must_ be performed.

Spock sat back on his heels and closed his eyes, speaking softly. "My Fathers, hear the plea of your son. I entreat you to share your wisdom and courage with me, for I am in sore need of both. I know that among you were healers of mind and body. My Ancestors, who dwell within my _katra_ , come forward and give me aid now. Steady my hands and guide me. Help me to save the life of my bonded mate and the child she carries, your son or daughter."

Spock sat quietly for a minute more, his attention focused inward, waiting expectantly for the stirring in his mind that would mean his Ancestors had heard him and responded. He had almost given up when abruptly a chill went over him, making the hair on the back of his neck rise, and then peace settled over him. They were there. He could do this now.

With new confidence, Spock bent back to the ugly wound marring Christine's otherwise smooth back. Holding the knife blade carefully between his fingers like a scalpel, he made a shallow cut at the top of the wound, then another at the bottom, allowing him to expose the piece of wood embedded there. Once more space was provided, the main body of the projectile came easily free with a gentle pull.

Spock look a few seconds to study the bloody object and raised an eyebrow. It was part of a straight, slender sapling that he was intended to fashion into a new spear. How ironic that it had been just that in the winds of the tornado. The wood had not been stripped of bark or smoothed but had been set aside with a pile of similar saplings and branches that would be seasoned, hardened and eventually made into arrows, spears and other tools. The cyclone had blasted them into tinder and set them into a deadly cloud of flying debris within the cave walls.

Setting the missile aside, Spock turned back and blotted the wound with a clean chamois, then bent closer to search out and remove the splinters and pulverized bark that were buried within the flesh. It took him nearly an hour before he was confident that he had it all. Then, pouring a bit of sterilized water into the incision, he washed the wound clean and began on the next task, that of stitching the cut closed. The only materials he had to work with were a bone needle and long, nearly hair-fine strips of antelope tendon, boiled in a pot of water and set aside to cool.

It took him several minutes to get the needle threaded and a knot tied in the tendon fiber. The stitches would be large and there would be nothing pretty about them. The scarring this would produce would mark Christine's back forever, but it was the best he could do. He had a similar long, puckered scar down one thigh where Christine had stitched him back together following the wolf attack their first winter here.

Working as delicately as he could, Spock began to pull the slashed flesh together, being careful not to pull the skin together too tightly but still bring it into contact with the other side so that it would knit back together. His back was aching by the time he finished, both from bending so close and from the tension in his neck. But finally it was done. He sprinkled on a powder of dried leaves from one of Christine's medicine pouches, one that seemed to have antiseptic properties, and sat back to rest before tackling the next phase of his work.

The lamps were beginning to burn low, but he was disinclined to wake Sapel to refill them. He wouldn't need a lot of light for setting her shoulder. Spock sat back to rest for a few minutes and sipped some water, wondering when he had eaten last. His stomach was tight with emptiness and gurgled quietly as the cool water trickled into it, but he shoved away any notion of hunger he might have. He couldn't eat yet.

Marshaling his determination and strength, he turned back to Christine and gently examined her shoulder, manipulating it with careful movements and trying to feel for any break in the bone. Her shoulder socket moved easily and freely and he could not discern any obvious fracture. But then he didn't really know what to feel for. His hands might be moving over a break and he would not recognize it.

Spock closed his eyes again and opened himself to his Ancestors, allowing the knowledge of the healers to flow through him. Almost by their own power, his long fingers danced over the injured area, probing, pressing gently, assessing. And somehow he could almost see within to the bone itself, could visualize it in his mind.

There was a fracture on the shoulder blade where the projectile had struck. The scapula was cracked, but not broken clean through. There was nothing he could do to actually set it. The best treatment was to immobilize her right arm and let the bone begin to grow back together, keeping undue stress off it for a while. It would be painful, but it was not as bad as he had feared.

The Ancestor retreated somewhat and Spock set to work bandaging his wife's incision and the break, then finished cleaning her body where dirt and blood had streaked her skin. That done, he wrapped her warmly in the bed furs and touched his fingertips to her pale face. He was almost too weary to attempt this, but it was a necessary last step.

Bringing her mind up from the depths was exhausting, but finally he raised her to normal sleep. As he pulled out of her mind, she roused and murmured, "Spock?" without opening her eyes.

"It is okay, _t'hy'la_ ," he answered in a weary whisper. "It's all over. Sleep now."

She did, sinking back down into restful slumber, and he stretched out beside her, pulling a fur over himself and falling into deep sleep without even bothering to extinguish the tiny flickering lamps or remove any of the implements of surgery. He had used the last of his own failing strength.

* * *

When Spock awoke the next morning, he found Christine up and awkwardly stirring a pot of boiling grain over the fire. She was dressed in a pullover shift, the right sleeve empty because her arm was bandaged against her body. Her hair was still mussed and unbraided. He rose quickly and went to her.

"Christine, you should not be out of bed. Nor doing this!" he stated.

She turned her face to him, pale but smiling, and he could see the spark of her old energy showing in her eyes. "I had to get up and go to the bathroom and then I decided to fix some breakfast. I'm feeling okay. Really, Spock."

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she slid her left arm around his neck, pulling him close in a frantic embrace. "Oh, God, Spock, I thought I'd lost you! Caught in the storm and—"

She sobbed and he held her as tightly as he dared, mindful of her injuries. "I thought the same of you," he whispered. He drew back a bit and found her lips in a fervent kiss, conveying all he felt to her both through his actions and the open channel of their bondlink.

When their lips had parted, she asked, "Sapel?"

"He is uninjured. Still just asleep. He has been very brave and resourceful. Extraordinarily so for a boy so young."

Spock looked humbled. "He saved me, Christine. I suffered a concussion and could not find the way home. He led me back here."

"Oh, Spock! Where were you hit?! Let me see!" The nurse in her took charge and her hand slipped up to his hair.

"I am fine now."

"Bosh! Where?"

Knowing that resistance was futile, he took her hand and placed it on the still painful lump at the back of his head. Expertly, her fingers probed and examined. "Hmm, scabbed over and only minor swelling, but it must have taken quite a whack to knock you senseless," she mused. "Any other injuries?"

"Minor ones. A lot of small debris embedded in my skin."

"Where?"

"Mostly on my back."

"Shirt off," she ordered. "Let me see."

Obediently he shucked his buckskin tunic and allowed her to examine his excoriated back, feeling her light touch here and there as she pressed or picked at individual wounds, all still painfully making their presence known.

"What are all these bruises? You look like you've been worked over with a Romulan bola‑flail."

"A close analogy," he answered. "They were caused by hail."

"Oh! My poor darling!" He felt her scrutiny moving down the small of his back to his buttocks and made a reflexive grab at his breeches as she began to pull them down. "How far does this go?" she muttered, then addressed him, "Drop your drawers. I want to see your legs."

He twitched an eyebrow at her, attempting to distract her. "Christine, I hardly think you are in any condition—"

"I'm not kidding, Spock. Get 'em off."

He sighed and unlaced his leather breeches, allowing them to drop to his knees. Her fingers went over the backs of his thighs as thoroughly as the rest of him. Then she sat back with a sigh. "Well, you worked on me, now it's my turn to work on you. Some of these places are festering and all that junk has to come out of your skin. I want to clean that scalp wound too and make sure it's healing properly. I'll get the stuff cleaned and sterilized and we can start after breakfast."

"Christine, you are in no condition to do anything of the sort," Spock protested, pulling his pants back up and lacing them closed.

"I can work for short periods of time," she answered, her steely determination settling over her. "There's no need to keep my right arm strapped down so tightly. I'm hurt but I'm not disabled. Anyway, there's too much that has to be done around here for either of us to lie in bed and loaf. And I have no intention of allowing your wounds to turn septic and have blood poisoning set in!"

"Christine—"

"End of discussion!" she snapped. "I'm the medical officer here and that's a medical order!"

His eyebrow rose slowly as he stared stonily at her. "I see, Doctor. In that case, I bow to your medical authority, but as commander of this 'ship', I will only allow it to go so far."

One corner of her mouth twitched up in a smile she was finding hard to suppress. "Understood ... Captain."

They were interrupted by a small disheveled bundle of dirt and tangled black hair that abruptly flew between them and launched itself at Christine. "Mama!!"

Spock made a grab at him but he already had his arms around her neck. Christine grimaced with pain but allowed Sapel's enthusiastic embrace for a moment. "Ooohhh, carefully, babydoll! Remember, Mama's hurt."

He backed off, the dirt on his face streaked by tear tracks. "Mama! I was so scared, Mama! I thought you got killed!"

She felt her eyes welling up again as she drank in her little son's face. "I was scared you got killed, too, lovey. I am so glad to have both my men home again!" She pulled Sapel to her and hugged him with her left arm, allowing the tears to cascade down as emotion overwhelmed her for a moment. Then she got herself under control and pushed him away a little. "But we're all okay now. We're all still together. Now, who wants some breakfast?"

"I do!" Sapel answered, back to the business of everyday living. "I'm starved!"

"Good, because I think this cereal is ready. Why don't you see if you can find the honey jar while Papa dishes it up to cool a bit?"

Sapel laughed. "Like the three bears in that story, huh? Lettin' it cool 'til it's _juuust_ right!" He scampered off to find the carved stone crock where they stored the precious golden sweetening.

Christine exchanged glances with her husband, then looked around the shambles of their home. "More like another fairy tale ... the big bad wolf and the three little pigs. The storm huffed and puffed and _bleeew_ our house down," she said in a wry, weary tone.

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "No, our house is still here," he said softly. "If I remember that children's story correctly, the houses made of straw and sticks blew away, but our house is made of stone. It's still here. More important, so are we! We've had to start over before, _t'hy'la_. We will simply do so once again." He smiled encouragingly, his dark eyes soft and full of love for her. "It will take more than a mere tornado to destroy us. As long as we have each other, we can make it."

"You're going to make me cry again," she warned. "Let's eat. I have a lot of work to do on your back."

"Not too much," he answered seriously. "A bit, then you will rest. And that is my direct order!"

"Yes, sir," she replied obediently. Already feeling the effects of being up, she had the impression that she wouldn't argue with him at all.

* * *

They both healed of their wounds and, by the time full summer had arrived, their lives were more or less back to normal. Christine had worked diligently on excising the various bits of debris that had been embedded under Spock's skin and finally, though he possessed numerous small scars as a souvenir of the experience, the vast majority of the detritus was gone. Christine's shoulder blade knitted firmly back together, although it still gave her a twinge now and then if she lifted too great a weight, and for her the worst part was when Spock removed the stitches from the incision. Skin had adhered to the pieces of tendon and, though he tried to be gentle, in most cases there was nothing else to do after he had cut the string but grasp the knot between his teeth and yank backwards. But the wound had healed cleanly and without infection and that was worth the pain Christine endured.

By mid-summer, her pregnancy had advanced into the second trimester, about four months if she calculated correctly, and her abdomen was beginning to show the definite roundness of new life. Her nausea had passed and she was feeling suffused with boundless energy. Her health and well-being reflected the profusion of life around her.

Despite the damage the storm had done, the entire area had bounded back with amazing speed. The herds of horses and antelope and bison were filled with young colts and calves, all testing themselves and each other while their mothers grazed and grew fat on the rich green grasses that covered the plains. The various predators all had pups or cubs as well and sometimes Christine and Sapel would see them emerge from dens to explore and tumble in play.

All was not pleasure, of course. The tornado had severely damaged their homesite and ruined much of their stored supplies. As soon as he was able, Spock built a new door barrier, the original one destroyed in the storm, and set to work chopping the fallen tree into firewood. It was a huge tree and extremely hard work with only flint-bladed axes to use, but after four years he was practiced at it.

Preparing early legumes that she had found, Christine sat and watched him work, loving the play of light on his skin. He was shirtless in the afternoon heat, his long black hair falling in a braid down his gleaming back, his muscles bulging underneath his bronzed skin as he swung the axe again and again, the blade biting into the wood with a solid thunk. Chopping wood invariably worked up a sweat, something hard to do with a Vulcan, and she found him unbelievably masculine as his lean, hard body shone with a patina of moisture and his dark-haired chest rose and fell with exertion.

Catching his breath, he turned and smiled at her, aware of the rising excitement she was feeling. They had not made love since before the storm and he was beginning to echo her hunger, but had held off until she was fully healed. Laying down his axe, he came to where she was sitting in the shade of the cliff face and sank down beside her, reaching over to steal some of the raw legumes and pop them into his mouth like peanuts. They were sweet and crunchy and he liked them this way as much as cooked soft.

"Stop that or we won't have any supper!" she admonished.

"Why cook when the weather is this hot?" he asked reasonably.

"You'll give yourself a stomach ache," she answered, turning back to shelling the legumes from their green coverings. "Anyway, we're having more than this. I dug up some _tala_ roots today, too, and they have to be boiled anyway. Might as well cook two dishes as one."

"Still, I do not want you to exert yourself." He reached for more legumes and she slapped his hand, but let him take them.

Spock leaned back against the cliff face and let his gaze roam down to the pond where he could see Sapel fishing. They had cleared the majority of the debris and piled it on the far side of the pool, up on the hill, and the little body of cascade-fed water seemed as pristine as before.

Munching the last of his legumes, Spock looked back at his wife. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm fine. My shoulder hardly hurts at all anymore and the scar only bothers me now and then. It itches sometimes." Her fingers continued busily shelling the peas as she talked.

"And the baby? Have you felt it move yet?"

Christine stopped what she was doing and her gaze dropped to her belly, a fond smile pulling at her lips. "A little flutter now and then. Here, see if you can feel anything." She took her husband's hand and laid it palm down across the swelling of her abdomen.

For a couple of moments, both of them sat motionless, all their attention concentrating within her, then Spock shook his head. "It is early yet." Softly, he caressed her, conveying his wonder that somewhere beneath his hand was a living being ... his child, growing and developing into a new life.

He looked up to find Christine smiling at him, her blue eyes shining with devotion. "Even after all this time," she whispered, "I still find it hard to believe that this isn't a dream. That you're really here with me and that I'm carrying your baby inside me. That you actually love me."

He leaned toward her and their lips met in a tender kiss. As he pulled away, he murmured in Vulcan, " _T'chalya, i'aduna t'hyla. Kh'askeyralatha ni'var i'kh'tahl_."

She laughed softly. "What? You know my Vulcan isn't that good!"

"I said that you are my beloved wife and that by your actions you have made a clear statement that we two have joined into one, meaning the unity that has become our child." His dark eyes were full of affection. He stroked her abdomen again and his manner changed subtly. "I hunger for thee, wife," he said softly.

She felt a pulse of arousal surge through her. "I hunger for thee, too, my husband," she whispered back. "Are you well enough, though? You've been working way too hard lately. It hasn't been that long since..."

"I am fully recovered," he assured her, his eyes still holding hers. "But what of you? I do not wish to push you into what you may not be ready for."

"Oh, Spock, if Sapel weren't right over there, I'd already have you flat on your back and naked!" she grinned. "Tonight, after he's asleep..."

"Tonight, beloved," Spock agreed and kissed her soundly to seal their promise. "Meanwhile, that tree will not chop itself into kindling." He smiled at her and got to his feet, striding back with renewed energy to the job at hand.

* * *

After supper, Christine sat with Sapel for a little while and practiced reading with him. Some of her manuscripts had been lost, but she had salvaged a couple dozen and tonight she helped him read through some children's poetry that she had set down on the leather scrolls.

"Oh ... how I like to go up in a..." he read then hesitated.

"Swing," she supplied.

"Swing. Up in the air so blue. Oh, I do think it the ... plee... pleez..." He stopped again, frustrated.

"That's a hard one, isn't it?" she smiled. "Pleasantest. Pleh ... sant ... est."

"Pleh ... pleasantes' ... thing ever a child can do," he finished triumphantly.

"Very good!" Christine praised him.

"Mama? What's a swing?"

"Well, it's a seat that's hung by two ropes from a tree limb. You sit in it and go back and forth in it," she explained.

Sapel considered it but shook his head. "I don't get it," he answered.

"If we can weave together enough leather braid to make a couple of ropes, Papa and I will build you one. How about that?" she asked, smiling down at her little son.

"Okay." He yawned and she took the cue.

"But now it's time for bed," she said. She tucked him into his furs and kissed him good night, then got up and walked back to the front of the cave.

Spock was standing just outside, looking up at the stars. The planet's three small moons had not yet risen and it was a dark, clear night, still warm from the day's heat, the summer constellations glittering brightly overhead. The absence of the big shade tree dramatically increased their view of the sky and for a while Christine stood beside her husband simply taking in the remarkable panorama of astral splendor.

As they watched, a meteor streaked across the sky towards the west and Christine caught her breath. "A shooting star! Quick, make a wish!"

"A wish? What for?" Spock asked, looking down at her quizzically.

"When you see a shooting star, you're supposed to wish for something," she answered.

"It was not a 'shooting star', Christine. Stars do not 'shoot'. It was merely a piece of dust burning up in the atmosphere," he explained patiently.

"Oh, silly, I know that! Don't take the fun out of it," she retorted, aware that he was teasing her. "I made a wish anyway."

"Indeed. What did you wish for?" he asked, his amusement beginning to become evident.

"Nope. Can't tell. Then it won't come true," responded his wife.

"Hmm. Highly illogical." He slipped his hands behind his back in a characteristic pose he seldom used anymore. "I do not believe that you wished for anything at all."

"I did so. I just can't tell you what it is."

"Then what proof do I have that you are not simply fabricating this alleged wish?"

"I'll let you know if it comes true," she answered, smiling secretively.

"Very well. In the meantime, I believe that I shall go down to the pond and bathe. I am quite grimy from the work I did today," he said.

"Good idea," she answered. "As soon as I make sure that Sapel is asleep, I'll join you."

He looked down at her and she could feel his pleasure through their bondlink. "Do not wait too long," he responded softly. "I know that I cannot."

He kissed her lightly and she watched his dark figure disappear down the path towards the little pond.

* * *

When she reached the edge of the pool and spread out the large hide she had brought with her, she found Spock's clothing neatly folded on the bank and could just make out his head and shoulders rising above the water. Gentle splashing told her that he was in the midst of his bath and she took the opportunity to remove her own clothing and toss it beside his.

Wading into the refreshing water, she moved up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against the smooth expanse of his back. "You feel so good," she said.

His hands covered hers and pressed them against his stomach. "You are cool," he murmured in his deep, rumbling baritone. "The water is too chilly tonight."

"It's chilly to you," she responded. "To me, it's just right. Anyway, you'll warm me up pretty soon." She chuckled and let her hands move lower on his torso, sliding down the soft skin of his abdomen toward the tantalizing region below.

He stopped her before she went too far. "You will warm me too quickly if you do that." He turned around to face her and drew her against his chest, his arms going around her. "And it will not take much tonight to do so." He leaned toward her and caught her mouth with his, a passionate kiss to which she responded with vigor. Their tongues fencing against one another, they pulled one another close, savoring the feel of heated skin pressed together in glorious juxtaposition with the cooler water. He began to throb in rising response against her belly and she moaned in reply and leaned closer into him.

But Spock pushed her away a little and said softly, "I do not wish to make love in the water tonight. I want you beneath me. Soon it will be impossible and it is how I like it best. Will you indulge me this once?"

She snuggled against him, lifting her face. "You know I will, Spock. I like it that way, too. Nothing excites me more than lying there while you make love to me and just allowing myself to totally sink into the experience. I have the most incredible orgasms that way."

His rumbling chuckle sounded deep within his throat. "I know, my wife. I _do_ experience what you feel."

"Mmmmm...." she smiled and moved her pelvis against his. "Then let's start experiencing it!"

She felt him respond with a decided twitch of interest and together they waded out of the water, hand in hand. On the bank, they dried each other with chamois towels, although the night air was warm and pleasant. Their hands roamed freely over each other's bodies as they toweled themselves dry and he bent to kiss her engorged nipples and caress her heavy breasts.

Straightening, he found her mouth once more and they fell back into an exchange of fervent kisses. As they did so, she let her hand trail down to the rigid shaft prodding against her and grasped him, stroking him lightly. He sighed against her mouth and she felt the pleasure that surged through him at her touch.

He reached down and halted her, though, and drew her hand back up to his chest. "I am already near to climax," he whispered between kisses. "My hunger for you is almost more than I can control. I burn for thee, wife!"

Indeed, she could feel the heat radiating from his skin and echoed the sensation back to him through their bond. Without waiting for further acknowledgment, they lowered themselves onto the big soft hide spread out on the ground, the fever between them growing more insistent with every second.

She moved into his arms and brought her face up to his, relishing the long, devouring kiss he pressed against her lips. His tongue sought entry and she opened to receive him, her own tongue playing back against his. The kiss deepened as they explored each other's mouths, probing against the other, tasting and tickling.

She slid her foot up his leg then slipped it over his thigh, allowing his erect manhood to slip in between her nether lips and search as his tongue did into her mouth. Moving his hips in a slow, controlled motion, he rubbed against the slick wetness he found there, coating himself with her nectar, hardening even more as he did so.

She gasped softly as his hard organ stroked against the sensitive nub between her folds. Pregnancy had increased her responsiveness and it had been so long since she had felt him massage her in this manner. Throwing back her head, she closed her eyes and began to focus on the building tightness inside her, transmitting her arousal through their bondlink to his mind, a fresh surge of her juices enveloping his pulsating rod.

The heat of her rapture flowed into and around him like liquid fire and centered his groin in a lake of flame. His erection jerked up even harder and, in another second, he had her on her back and was positioning himself for entry. _Need!_ his wordless thoughts demanded in her mind, and she instantly shot back, _Yes! Now!_

He plunged his hips forward and was immediately buried hilt-deep within her. With a gasp, she arched her back at the abrupt sensation of his penetration, her body gripping him tightly as she spasmed. With a supreme effort, he held himself still until she had slipped over the crest, keeping his body lifted off hers with stiffened arms, an action that both prevented his weight from pressing on her abdomen and simultaneously concentrated their focus on the hard, throbbing shaft sunk within her.

When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he knew that she was ready and he began to move his hips forward and back in a steady cadence. She met his strokes with movements of her own, in perfect harmony with his thrusting buttocks. The angle of his entry and the magnitude of his need quickly brought him to the precipice. She could feel him swell to maximum hardness within her as the intensity of his powerful lunges built.

Then suddenly he caught his breath between clenched teeth and slammed into her with one shuddering, urgent drive and hung above her in rigid climax, his face contorted in the sweet agony of orgasm, the flood of his eruption pumping into her in a seemingly ceaseless flow.

In reality, he sagged on trembling arms much too soon and withdrew to lie at her side, his eyes closed, breath coming hard. She snuggled against him. "That was amazing," she whispered. "I may have to make you do without more often if that's what you're like when we do get together!"

"As if you could remain celibate without extenuating circumstances..." he answered, still slightly breathless. "Your libido is absolutely insatiable!"

"You like it and you know it," she grinned. "Just think what you missed during all those years on the ship when you ran every time you saw me coming!"

"Had I known, I would have run all the harder! If I had given in, as I came quite close to doing on a number of occasions, I would never have been able to function! We would have spent all our time in either your cabin or mine!"

She laughed in delight. "Why, Spock! What a sweet thing to say! I'm going to have to reward you for that!"

She lifted herself up and leaned over him, planting a warm, sensuous kiss on his mouth, letting her tongue tease and tantalize him. His strong arms came up around her and drew her closer against him as he returned the kiss in equal measure.

During their oral explorations, Christine's hand moved down his stomach and over his abdomen, encountering the thick patch of hair at its base then the firm, warm shaft of his penis, both still wet and slick with their mingled secretions. She caressed the length of his manhood, fondled the weighty bundle at its root, then back up again to stroke the smooth head and hardening column of flesh in her fist.

"Mmmmm, like I said before. You feel so good!" she murmured against his lips, working her hand with a practiced touch. Then she chuckled. "I just thought of a really old saying we had in college. 'A hard man is good to find!' And you are going to be so hard in a few minutes that I'm really glad I found you!"

He was coming back erect with incredible speed, already nearly hard enough for the next move she planned. But she was in no hurry. The night was warm and the stars glittered with preternatural brightness, shot through with streaks of light as meteorites flashed overhead.

She claimed his mouth again, thinking of a wish she'd made a long time ago and how it had definitely come true.

* * *

Later, after the night had begun to cool, they had picked up their things and moved back into the cave, slipping underneath the furs together and lying close in satiated contentment, side by side. Christine had nearly drifted off to sleep when she felt Spock's fingers grope and find hers, then lace together loosely, a companionable, loving touch.

She smiled in the darkness and nuzzled his shoulder to let him know that she was awake enough to appreciate the gesture. He squeezed her fingers ever-so-lightly in return.

They lay that way for a while longer when she felt a little bump nudge her abdomen. It wasn't much but she came awake nevertheless, her attention focusing on her belly. Spock had alerted instantly as well, sensing the change in her mind.

"The baby?" he whispered.

"Yes. It moved," she murmured back, laying her free hand across her skin. He shifted onto his side and covered her smaller hand with his large one. She felt another little flutter and hastily slid her hand out from under his so that his palm covered her bare abdomen. Together they waited and then were rewarded when Spock felt the tiny movement as well.

"Our baby lives, _t'hy'la_ ," he said with wonder. "It moves with vigor."

"It's so early yet. I'm surprised you can feel anything."

He rubbed her belly and then lifted his head to smile at her, his eyes suffused with love. "How can I tell you how wondrous you are to me?" he whispered. "I am speechless at how marvelous this is."

She snuggled her head against his, trying not to cry. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and it will all be a dream."

She leaned toward him and their lips met in a soft, heart-felt kiss. When he drew away from her a little, she squeezed her eyes shut and tears did leak out between her lashes. "Oh, Spock, I'm so afraid I'm going to lose this one, too. I thought it was all over when the tornado..."

He pulled her against his bare chest and she clung to him desperately, hanging onto his solid warmth for dear life. "Beloved," he whispered against her forehead, holding her close. "I cannot guarantee beyond any doubt whatsoever that we will all be safe. That is not within my power. But I promise you that I will do everything I am capable of doing to keep you and Sapel and our baby from harm. You must believe me about this."

She gave a soft, contrite little sob against his shoulder. "Oh, Spock, I don't blame you for anything that's happened. How can you think that?"

"If not for me, you would not be here," he murmured and she felt the pain of his remorse echo through their bond. "I should have found a way to keep you out of the bounds of Tal's revenge." But abruptly his arms tightened around her and he buried his face in her hair. "Although ... I must be honest with you. I am glad that you are with me. If you were not here ... if I were alone, as Tal intended ... I would have died long ago. Indeed, if anything should happen to you or our children, I would not wish to go on. I could not."

Christine lifted her face to stare into his eyes, stricken. "Spock, don't ever say anything like that! Promise me ... promise me! ... that you will never do anything to harm yourself! I can't bear the thought!"

He reached up to caress her face and wipe away her tears. "I promise, beloved. But I also promise you this. I would die to keep you all safe. If it ever comes down to my life or yours, I will die for you. Remember that."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "I don't want to remember it. I don't want to think about it at all! Spock, I'm so afraid now!"

"Of what?" he asked softly.

"Of losing you! Of losing our babies!" She sank back against him and wept against his shoulder.

Confused, he did not know what to say to comfort her. He had thought his declaration of devotion would have made her glad. Instead, it seemed to have just the opposite effect.

From the back of his mind, he remembered a scene he had inadvertently witnessed as a child. He had heard soft mournful sounds coming from his parents' bedroom and had crept closer to investigate. The door was not completely closed and he had peered through the crack. His mother was face down on the bed, weeping, and Sarek stood beside her, looking both aggravated and puzzled. "What did I say?" he asked.

"You know!" the woman had answered, her voice muffled.

"Amanda, you are being totally illogical."

"Go away!!" She sounded furious and anguished at the same time.

Sarek had started to turn away, but instead sat down on the side of the bed and reached out to touch her, gently laying his hand on her shoulder. Almost immediately, his wife was in his arms, clinging to him and he was embracing her tightly in return. Outside the door, their young son looked on in shock. Never had he seen his parents touch like this! It was not done in Vulcan society and he did not realize that adults had a completely different life in the privacy of their chambers. Why ... his father must actually feel affection for his wife! Just as she did for him! It was a startling revelation.

But what Spock recalled now was that his mother had been greatly comforted simply by being held and loved. His arms tightened around his own wife now and she responded to him, her tears easing. "Don't ever leave me, Spock," she whispered to him, so softly that he wasn't entirely sure she was aware that she had spoken.

But he answered all the same. "Never, my _t'hy'la_. Never." And he held her until she drifted into a deep sleep.

* * *

Christine finished scraping off the inedible bits and some of the bones of the hare she was cleaning for supper and handed the bowl to Sapel. "Here, babe," she said. "Go throw these on the scrap heap, then come right back. Your Papa should be back soon and maybe he'll feel like taking you for a swim while dinner is cooking."

The boy took the bowl of refuse and scampered away, crossing the little creek on the stepping stones laid across it then climbing up the gentle slope of the other bank. There, he came to the jumble of brush they had cleaned out of the pond after the tornado and where they tossed out the few bits of their kills that were unusable. Scavengers always cleared the scraps away promptly and very little went to waste.

But Sapel had a secret that he hadn't shared with either his mother or father. After he had tossed the trash near the brush pile, he moved back and squatted down silently to wait. It wasn't long before he was rewarded.

A twitching black nose appeared from the confines of the brush and was soon followed by a soft reddish-brown body, sniffing its way to the discards. The little creature that emerged into the sunlight was about a foot long with erect triangular-shaped ears, large black eyes, and points of creamy fur on its face, chest and tail. It was only half-grown, the sole survivor of a litter wiped out by the storm.

Sapel had discovered that it had taken up residence in the brush pile not long after they'd piled the branches and storm debris here, and he'd been feeding it ever since. Today he'd held back a few bits of meat and, after the animal had finished off the scraps he'd tossed on the ground, he clicked his tongue softly and toss a piece of meat in the animal's direction.

The little creature scurried away to safety, but it was only a minute before curiosity and hunger got the better of it. Cautiously, it ventured back out, keeping a wary eye on the motionless boy while creeping towards the tantalizing meat. It paused to sniff the morsel then snatched it away and ate it quickly.

Sapel clicked his tongue again and tossed another little bit. This time the animal didn't run so far and didn't dive under cover. Still watching the child, it seized the meat even quicker. Sapel grinned in delight, made the soft sound and once more tossed out some meat. The animal pounced on it and downed it in a gulp.

Experimentally, Sapel clicked but did not throw the last bit of meat. The animal sat expectantly, rising up on its hind legs and peering at him. Satisfied, he tossed the reward it awaited and watched it gobble down the scrap. Afterwards, it watched him for a long moment, but the boy said softly, "Sorry, that's all."

The two sat gazing at one another, then the animal turned and hurried back under the brush pile. Happily, Sapel rose and retrieved the bowl, then started back to camp where he could already smell the delectable scent of roasting hare rising on the afternoon breeze.

* * *

Christine was looking decidedly pensive when Spock came upon her sitting in the shade with her back against the cliff wall. Since the destruction of her big shade tree, it had become a favored place, out of the sun but with a view across the creek and pond to the high plains beyond.

He had been on a short day trip down the river to the salt outcropping and had brought back a loaded pack full of rock salt. Now, as he dropped this beside the cave entrance, he came and settled beside her to cool off. It was high summer and the day was blazing hot. He appreciated the heat, but not the humidity that usually went with it. Hacking and hauling salt was a dirty, tiresome job and he was quite relieved to be home.

"You look lost in thought," he said, looking at his wife. She was dressed in halter and loin cloth, as she usually wore in hot weather. Her abdomen was noticeably round now and she was carefully balancing Sapel's writing slate in her lap, absently twirling a piece of rough chalk between the fingers of her right hand.

"I _am_ lost in thought," she admitted. "I'm thinking about winter."

"An odd thought to have in September." For convenience, they had given Earth names to twelve of the fifteen lunar cycles that passed for months on Terra Two. The remaining three had been dubbed Tasmeen, Ah'keth, and et'Dhior, after the winter months of Vulcan.

"Not really," Christine answered. "Just thinking ahead. I'm over four months now. The baby was conceived in the middle of April. That means it should arrive around mid-December. Just about the time of the first good snow. We usually don't head south until the herds move in October or November and I'll be nearly eight months pregnant by then. I don't want to set out on the road to either Sea Home or Ship and risk going into labor on the way."

"Logical," he agreed. "Then we should plan to winter here."

"Exactly. I'm just noting down what we need to do in order to get ready." She showed him the slate. "I need to get on the ball making us winter clothing and preserving food to last us. And, of course, get things ready for the baby. I have a few things that I put back when Sapel was a baby that weren't too worn, but we need to stock up on sphagnum moss and plant lint for diapers and I need to make sure that I have everything we might need for the birth..."

"Put down an extra large supply of firewood, as well," he suggested. "There is still a large amount of storm debris that can be collected, so that will not be a problem."

For a while, the two sat together, intent on their planning, then Spock scratched his bare chest and said, "I am dirty and itchy with salt. I need a swim to wash this off. Would you care to join me?"

"I'd love it!" she smiled and allowed him to assist her to her feet. Already her burgeoning stomach was making it a bit difficult to get up and down. "Let me call Sapel."

Spock looked around their campsite. "Where is our ever-curious son? I thought he would be nearby."

"Oh, he is. He's found something fascinating up by the brush pile on the other side of the creek and he spends as much time up there as he can get away with."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. What has he found?"

"I don't know. Probably a biter mound or lizard hole that he's enjoying watching." Christine walked down to the edge of the creek and put her hands up on either side of her mouth to magnify her call. "Sapel!!"

In just a few second, the boy's head appeared, his black hair shaggy and unkempt, his perfect little Vulcan face smudged with the honest dirt of play. He peered at his mother inquisitively and she motioned for him to come to her. He disappeared for a moment, then came scrambling down the creek bank and skipped across the crossing stones.

"What, Mama?" he asked, slightly out of breath.

"Want to go swimming with us?" she asked, and the boy glanced up to see his father standing with arms crossed on the pathway to the pond, an amused expression on his face.

"Okay," Sapel said.

Christine put her fists on her hips and peered down at him. "Well, that's not very enthusiastic. You're usually in the water every chance you get!"

"I'm just busy, that's all," he hedged.

"Doing what?"

"Nothin'." Abruptly closing the subject, Sapel took off at a run in Spock's direction. "Papa! Did you bring me anything?"

Christine exchanged gazes with her husband, shrugged and followed her son as they went down to the waterfall-fed pond at the upper end of their valley.

* * *

Once Christine had set her mind to the chores that were needed to prepare for winter, she wasted no time getting them underway. Spock backed off and allowed her to be fully in command, knowing from experience that, once his wife went into full Keeper of the House mode, the only thing he and Sapel could do was stand by for instructions. It always amused him to see her in this take charge attitude, but she was relentless.

The first thing she did was send her husband and son back down to the salt lick to bring back a large supply of rock salt. There was a lot of food preservation at hand and they would need lots of the mineral to pack strips of meat and filets of fish into the brine barrels.

Sapel, for once, whined about accompanying his father on an expedition. "Why can't I stay with you, Mama?" he asked plaintively.

"Because your Papa needs you to help him," she answered, looking down at him.

"But I don't wanna go," the boy muttered.

Christine narrowed her eyes and rested her fists on her hips. "I usually have to force you to stay with me," she commented. "Why are you so insistent on staying now?"

The boy looked down. "I dunno."

"Yes, you do know! Why do you want to stay here, Sapel?" she demanded.

He merely shrugged and kept his eyes on the ground.

"That's not an answer," his mother said.

"I just got things to do," he muttered.

"Like what?" Again he shrugged. Christine crossed her arms and stared at him silently for a moment, considering. "It's something to do with that brush pile, isn't it? Why don't we just walk up there and find out what it is?"

Sapel jerked his face back up to hers and for a second sheer panic flashed over his features. "No, it's okay. There's nothing up there. I'll go with Papa."

"No, I think we'd better find out what's so fascinating first," she declared. "Spock! Can you join us for a moment?"

Spock, who had been getting together the things they would need for the hike and overnight stay down river, stood up and joined his wife, looking inquisitive. "Yes, Christine?"

"We need to investigate Sapel's little secret across the creek," she answered, peering unblinking at her son. "It might be nothing, but I might need a hand."

The two adults started purposefully across the stepping stone and up the creek bank, their son trailing glumly after. Once at the brush pile, both began to look for something that might interest a young boy to the exclusion of all else ... a bird's nest, a lizard hole, insect burrows...

As they neared the refuse pile, Spock said, "There are tracks here. A lot of them."

Christine joined him. "Hmmm ... almost like a small dog or cat. Sapel, is this what you've found? The den of some animal?"

The boy knew that he was trapped. "It's not a den, Mama. Just a baby I've been feeding."

"Aha! Well, no wonder you've been spending a lot of time up here," Christine replied. "But isn't its mother around?"

"Uhn-uhn... She got killed in the storm with her other babies. This is the only one left."

"Oh, the poor thing!"

Spock was eyeing her skeptically, however. "Christine, please do not entertain any ideas about rescuing this animal. It is wild and, in any case, we have enough problems feeding ourselves, let alone a stray creature."

"Who said anything about rescuing it?" she retorted, but he could already see that this was exactly what she had in mind.

"Sapel, can you get it to come out?"

"Not without food, I don't think," he answered. "I usually throw the scraps up here and it comes out and eats 'em, then goes back under the brush."

"Poor baby is probably scared to death," she murmured. "Tell you what, Sapel... You go on with Papa and I'll make sure your pet gets fed."

"Okay!"

"Christine, it is not a pet!" Spock interjected, growing alarmed at the direction this conversation was taking. "You do not even know what it is! It could be a young predator that would attack you."

"I'll be careful," she responded off-handedly, peering into the piled up tangle of branches and debris, searching for any sign of movement. Seeing none, she straightened and faced her husband, all business once more. "You two better get a move on! At this rate, you won't get there before dark and won't have time to do any work!"

Spock sighed and gazed at her for a long moment. "Agreed," he finally said. "Come, Sapel. Let's finish getting ready."

As the two Vulcans headed back to camp, Christine turned back to take one last look ... and this time thought she saw two little black eyes peering inquisitively at her from the deep shadows.

* * *

After her two men had left on their journey, Christine went back to work on the various projects she had going. There were a half-dozen hides pegged on poles and she worked on those until her arms ached, scraping and gently stretching them with the femur of an elk, the rounded knob of the hip joint just right for applying pressure without puncturing the leather.

She took a rest and had lunch in the afternoon's heat, and as she did, her thoughts turned to the little animal under the brush pile. She was intensely curious to see what it looked like and she gathered the remains of her lunch of antelope jerky and flatbread, making her way to the spot where the creature lived.

Settling down with her back to a medium sized tree, she tossed a piece of jerky and some torn bread near the brush pile. Then she settled back to wait.

For a very long time, absolutely nothing happened. The afternoon wore on with the sleepy quiet of the hottest part of the day. Heat haze shimmered across the plains and Christine could just make out the herds of horses and antelope grazing a mile away, their tails swishing lazily to ward off insects. Locusts and leaf-munchers buzzed and hopped through the waving yellow grass stems, and bees nosed into wild flowers that were scattered through the grasses like tiny gems. In the trees, birds tittered softly, going about their daily search for food and bringing it to half-fledged chicks not yet able to fly.

The heavy drowsiness began to take its toll on Christine. Her advancing pregnancy demanded an afternoon nap if she could get away with it, and on this day she felt her chin begin to nod and her eyes to close. She may have actually dozed off for a moment before catching herself and jerking back awake.

As she did so, she saw that she was no longer alone. Her stillness had drawn Sapel's little animal from its den and it was now peering intently at her, its black button nose twitching as it evaluated her scent. She sat motionless and peered back.

It was about the size of a half-grown kitten, vaguely canine in appearance but with a longer, more supple body. It was covered with sleek reddish-brown hair and had creamy white points above each eye, down its chest and belly, and back up the underside of its tail. Its feet and lower legs were black. More than anything else, it looked like a red fox kit crossed with a ferret.

Christine stared at it, enchanted. "Hello, sweetie," she whispered.

The animal pricked its huge erect ears and stared at her harder. For a while neither of them moved, then the kit nosed toward the food that Christine had tossed, keeping its eyes on her. It snatched up the jerky first and retreated away to eat it. Then it came back to sniff the bread. This was less to its liking, but it gulped the bits down, nevertheless.

"Are you still hungry, little one?" the woman murmured softly. Gently, she tossed more food toward the kit.

It didn't run this time and Christine surmised that it had grown used to being fed by Sapel. The third time, the crumb of jerky landed just beyond her outstretched legs and the kit hesitated. This was closer than it had ever ventured and it still feared the strange giant creature with the food.

Christine sat patiently and was finally rewarded when the kit crept close and grabbed the meat. She broke the last piece into two small bits and made sure that one landed beside her legs. The other she kept in reserve.

More trusting, the kit did not wait so long to snatch the piece on the ground and gulp it down. Then it waited expectantly.

"You're really a moocher, aren't you?" Christine said in a soft, non-threatening voice. "All right then. Come and get it."

She extended her hand, palm up, the last bit of jerky lying tantalizingly for the taking. The kit froze. This was a new twist on the game and not one that it particularly liked. But the irresistible scent of meat was more than it could resist. Slowly, one cautious step at a time, it advanced, its nose twitching busily.

Christine stayed absolutely still and finally the kit, its eyes locked on the woman's, leaned far in and swiped the jerky from her palm, retreating as quickly as it could out of her reach, its prize firmly in its jaws. But still Christine did not move and, after the kit had devoured its meal, it came a little bit closer, sniffing speculatively.

"Sorry, baby, that's all I have," she smiled, delighted. The two sat peering at one another for a few minutes more, then the kit turned and scurried back into the safety of the brush pile. Christine got to her feet, puffing a bit, and said, "I'll bring you more food tomorrow. See ya later, cutie-pie."

She turned and strolled back toward the creek and to her work. The kit stuck its head out of its shelter and watched her go. It didn't venture out after her, however. Instinct told it to stay under cover, safe from flying predators, but already it was beginning to associate the people who lived nearby with food and gentleness.

* * *

Sapel could tell that his father was upset by the way he tended to allow his long strides to cut through the grass until the boy was practically running to keep up. When he did so, Spock would slow down and allow him to keep pace, but then he would imperceptibly begin to lengthen his steps once more without seeming to notice that he was doing so.

The fourth time it happened, Sapel stopped and panted, "Papa! Stop walking so fast!"

The tall, solemn figure halted and turned to face him, his expression carefully neutral. "Do you wish me to carry you?" he asked, his voice bearing a slight undertone of annoyance.

For a second, Sapel hesitated, unwilling to subject himself to whatever had angered his father. But he was exhausted and they still had a long way to go. He nodded and approached the man, feeling apprehensive.

Spock's expression did not change as he squatted down and allowed his son to clamber up onto his shoulders, balancing against the backpack he wore. Then, with effortless strength, Spock stood, taking hold of the boy's ankles to steady him, and started off once more.

For a while neither said anything. It had been a while since Spock had allowed Sapel to ride on his shoulders like this. The little boy was getting rather big to be carried this way, but he still enjoyed it. His elevated vantage point allowed him to survey his surroundings and see further than he normally could.

They traveled this way for some time, following the line of the river as it made its way south through the rolling plains. Trees grew along the water way, their foliage thick and full of fruit near to ripening among their branches. It wouldn't be long before it would be time to harvest the sweet, nutritious globes before animals ate them all. Already, tree skippers were beginning to take the riper ones and scurry back to their burrows inside crevices in the trunks.

Sapel's attention was turned to the long-tailed little animals. He had forgotten his father's mood and so was caught off guard when Spock said quietly, "Sapel, I am quite displeased with your lack of truthfulness."

"Huh?" The boy looked down at his parent, for a few seconds not understanding.

"I am referring to the fact that you not only did not reveal the presence of the animal to us, but you deliberately concealed your knowledge of it," Spock continued. "Do you have an explanation?"

"I dunno," Sapel mumbled, hanging his head.

"You do not know what, Sapel?"

"I dunno," the boy answered.

Spock sighed in exasperation. "That is not an acceptable answer. Why didn't you tell your Mother or me that you were feeding this animal?"

"I dunno."

"Sapel, that is not an answer!" Spock caught himself and brought his anger back under control. "Why did you lie to us about it — and do not say that you don't know!"

The boy was feeling cornered and his emotions hovered between hurt and fury at what he saw as unjust persecution. "I thought you and Mama would be mad and make me stop," he responded.

"That is entirely possible," Spock answered. "However, it is just as possible that we would have allowed you to continue. Did you consider that?"

"No, sir," Sapel replied in a small voice.

Spock was silent for a few moments as he negotiated a little gully that cut across his path, then he resumed, " _Cha'i_ , it is of utmost importance that you always tell the truth. A man who lies will not be trusted or believed, even when he is telling the truth. It is said of Vulcans that we cannot lie. It is more accurate to say that we _do_ not lie. Lying is illogical because it goes counter to everything that governs Vulcan life." Spock paused to gather his thoughts and continued, "The heart of Vulcan life is the concept of _c'thia_. Do you know what that is?"

"No, sir."

"Most outworlders translate it as 'logic', but the real meaning is 'truth' or 'what is.' It means that in order for society to operate at its smoothest level, so that people may live together in peace and productivity, we must respect each other and deal honestly and truthfully with one another. Otherwise, there is chaos and a breaking down of civilization. Do you understand, Sapel?"

"I don't know, Papa," the boy answered. "I don't see what that has to do with us."

"It does not matter if it involves two people or two million," Spock responded. "In fact, it is more important with a small group of people because we must rely upon one another and feel implicit trust toward each other." Spock thought for a moment more. "I will tell you a story, Sapel, that your grandmother once told me. I believe that it comes from her homeland on Earth, but she set it on Vulcan so that I would understand it. She told it to me when I was about your age and had taken a sweet without permission, then said I did not.

"Once, in the days of our Fathers, there was a man who tended _paran_ herds on the hills of Llangon. That is the area of Vulcan where I grew up. _Paran_ are animals that give wool and milk. I don't believe we have anything here that is similar, so you must use your imagination. This man was often bored watching the herds and one day he thought up a ruse to play on his neighbors.

"There were predators in the hills like the lions that prey on the horses and antelope and it was the man's job to sound an alarm if the hill lions attacked the _paran_. One day he decided that it would be amusing to bring his neighbors running, so he sounded his horn as loud as he could, which was the signal for danger.

"Sure enough, within a few moments, all the men who had heard the alarm came running with their weapons to drive off the lions. But when they got there, of course, they found everything peaceful. 'Why did you sound your horn?' the man was asked.

"'I thought the lions were attaching,' he lied, 'but I was mistaken. You can all go home now.'

"So they went home. The next day, the man grew bored and did the same thing. He blew his horn as loud as he could and again all the neighbors ran to his aid. Again, they found all peaceful and returned to their homes.

"This happened the next day, and the next. By this time, the neighbors were tired of the false alarms and knew that the man was lying when he claimed to have seen lions. Then on the fifth day, the man was watching his herds as usual when suddenly lions _did_ attack and began to kill the _paran_ and tear them apart. The man began to blow his alarm horn with all his might but this time no one came to help him. He blew and blew but, because he had lied, the neighbors thought he was simply playing another trick on them, and they ignored his calls for help. The lions ultimately killed all of his _paran_ and then they attacked and killed the man as well."

"Didn't anyone ever come to help him?" Sapel asked, caught up in the story.

"No," his father responded. "You see, he had become known as a liar and, even when he was telling the truth, no one believed him anymore. In the end, he paid for his lack of truthfulness."

Sapel was silent for a long time then said hopefully, "But I didn't really lie, Papa. I just didn't tell you the whole truth."

"It was your intent, however, to keep us from knowing. Do you think we will be so ready to believe you next time? You have damaged our trust in you, Sapel."

"I'm sorry, Papa! I just wanted to feed the little animal." The little boy's voice was plaintive and Spock detected genuine remorse in his tone.

"I believe that you understand the seriousness of your actions," Spock answered after a moment. "We will say no more about it. Now, are you rested? I am growing fatigued carrying you and would like you to walk."

"I feel okay now, Papa," Sapel responded. "I can get down."

Spock stopped and knelt down so that his son could slide off his shoulders. Before Spock could rise to his feet, however, Sapel suddenly threw his arms around his father's neck and hugged him hard, nearly choking him for a second. "I won't ever lie to you again, Papa," he whispered against Spock's ear. "I promise!"

Caught off-guard, Spock awkwardly returned his son's embrace. "I know you will not, _cha'i_. Come now. The sun is getting low and I want to make camp before dark."

The tall Vulcan straightened to his feet and shifted his pack into a more comfortable position. His dark-haired son did likewise with his small load and they set off again through the waving grass.

* * *

Christine was already settled at the base of the tree before the morning dew had dried completely. The little animal poked its head from the brush pile almost at once and watched her expectantly. Christine didn't disappoint it.

Tossing some jerky its way, she smiled and coaxed, "Come on, baby. Come have some breakfast."

Its nose twitching, the kit crept out and took the food, then sat back on its haunches to eat it, holding the morsel in its front paws. Once finished, it groomed its face busily, then dropped its paws to the ground and sat looking at the woman.

"Why don't you come get the next bit?" Christine said in a soft, friendly voice and held out her palm as she had done the night before, another bit of meat resting there.

The animal hesitated, but it was rapidly losing its fear of her. Creeping toward her, it evaluated the situation, then almost confidently took the food. This time, it simply backed off a few steps to eat.

"What a good boy you are!" she murmured. "Or girl. I'm really not sure which." She chuckled quietly and offered the kit more food. It approached her without fear this time.

Christine ached to hold and stroke the sleek little body, but knew that she didn't dare. The kit's trust in her was too new, too fragile. If she tried to touch it, the least it would do was bolt. Worse, it might attack and she had gotten a close enough look at the sharp teeth filling its little mouth that she was sure it could do some serious damage if frightened.

So she simply sat quietly and talked to the creature for a while longer, feeding it tidbits and gaining its confidence. Before the tornado had ripped the valley apart, she'd caught glimpses now and then of what must have been the mother but never had a good look at her. The animal was too furtive and quick. From what she had been able to learn about them, these ferret-like creatures were social and lived in small family groups. She'd heard them yipping in chorus some nights when the moons were full and hunting conditions were good.

"Where's the rest of your family, pretty boy?" she asked the kit softly. "Were they all killed in the storm? Or did they leave the area? Whatever happened, you're all alone now, aren't you? I think that's why you're wanting to spend time with me. You're so lonesome, you can't stand it. You miss your mama and siblings, don't you?"

The kit blinked up at her, its large ears pricked her way. Of course, it didn't understand what she was saying, but the gentle tone in the woman's voice and her non-threatening demeanor drew it closer. Almost like a cat, it curled its long tail around its feet and settled down near her. Christine almost expected it to start purring, but it made no sound at all.

Slowly, she let her hand rest on the ground and almost imperceptibly inched her fingers toward the kit. It blinked sleepily for a few minutes, then seemed to realize that the woman's hand was getting close. Its eyes opened wider and it focused on the gliding fingers. Christine stopped and let it get used to her once more.

When her fingers were only a couple of inches away, she halted again. The kit continued to stare at her hand and then, unexpectedly, stretched its muzzle toward her and snuffled her fingers thoroughly. After a minute, its little tongue darted out and licked her hand delicately several times. Christine knew that it was undoubtedly just licking at the residue of meat grease left there, but it delighted her nonetheless.

She sat in companionable silence with the kit for a few minutes more then said, "Well, kiddo, I'd like to do this all day, but unfortunately I've got work to do. I'll see you at suppertime, okay?"

She began to struggle to her feet, her belly hampering her movement, and the kit scurried quickly away, back under the brush pile, peering out at her. As Christine started back down toward the campsite, the kit came out of its hiding place and looked intently after her.

Then it scampered after her, keeping a wary eye out for predators, but determinedly following its benefactor.

* * *

Spock and Sapel trudged in at sundown, both carrying as much rock salt as they could pack. Sapel, of course, was only bearing a very small load, but the little boy was nearly done in from the journey. As soon as he had dropped his burden, he headed straight for his bed, too worn out even to eat. He was asleep almost before he had settled into his furs.

Spock was not far behind him. He too stretched out on his bedding, still clad in the dusty, salt-encrusted buckskins he wore. Closing his eyes with a weary sigh, he did not acknowledge Christine as she came into the cave and viewed her two exhausted men. With a little shake of her head, she went and knelt beside Sapel, managing to get him undressed without waking him. Then she got to her feet and went to crouch down beside her husband.

As she began to unlace his moccasins, Spock murmured, "Don't bother with that. I still have things to do."

Christine didn't stop untying the laces. "What could you possibly have to do, sweetheart? You just lie there and rest.

"No, I must store the salt—"

"Tomorrow," she interrupted and drew off the moccasin she'd been working on. Setting it aside, she began on the other one. "You're always telling me that things can wait until tomorrow. Well, listen to me for a change. You're absolutely beat and you're going to spend the evening resting." Seeing him starting to argue, she warned, "Don't make me use my medical authority!"

With a subdued sigh, he lay back down and let her pull off his other shoe. He truly was too tired to fight her and, once he gave in to his fatigue, he realized that he'd been going on sheer determination for quite some time.

Christine saw him give up and smiled in secret satisfaction. She loved and admired Spock but one of his faults was that he would drive himself to absolute collapse and still refuse to admit defeat. "Have you eaten anything?" she asked.

"Not since this morning," he admitted. "I was quite anxious to finish this job and get back home tonight."

"I thought so. I'll have supper ready before you know it."

She got awkwardly to her feet and went to the hearth, where a spitted hare was roasting over the coals and several kinds of root vegetables had been cooking slowly in broadleaf wrappings. Checking their doneness, Christine decided they needed about half an hour more and used that time to make bread, mixing their crude flour with water and scooping handfuls onto a hot cooking stone. It didn't take long for the flat cakes to cook into tough, unleavened circles and she gingerly flicked them onto a platter, careful not to burn her fingers in the process.

By the time she was finished with this task, the hare and vegetables were ready to eat and she arranged those onto another serving platter. Taking the food back to the sleeping area, she found Spock sound asleep, stretched on his back with one hand flung over his head and the other across his stomach, snoring softly through his open mouth.

Christine smiled and stood looking down at him for a moment. "Oh, no, you're not tired at all, are you?" she asked him rhetorically. She had the platters balanced, one in each hand, and poked his ribs with her foot. He snorted and jerked awake.

"Chow time, Sleeping Beauty," she said and lowered herself as gracefully as she could.

He blinked and quickly roused himself to a sitting position. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, then stretched and was finally awake enough to function. Christine set the platters between them and they spent a leisurely hour sharing the meal, using their fingers to pick apart the roasted hare and vegetables, sopping up the juices with the flatbread. By the time they had finished, darkness had fallen outside and Spock was feeling better.

"I'll save the rest of this for Sapel," Christine said as she put the remains of their meal near the fire. "He's going to be famished when he finally wakes up."

"He ate some journey bread and dried fruit on the way back, but I doubt it satisfied him," Spock agreed. He lifted and rotated his right arm, grimacing a bit.

"What's the matter?" Christine asked.

"Just a bit of tightness in the muscle. It will pass."

"Let me see it. Take your shirt off."

Spock peeled the buckskin tunic off over his head and allowed his wife to kneel behind him, prodding gently at his shoulder and back muscles. Abruptly he winced and she said, "Aha. Right there." Her fingers expertly found the knot in his shoulder muscle and pressed in on it.

He flinched away from her. "Yes. It's all right. Leave it alone."

"Uhn-uhn. You'll be stiff as a board tomorrow." She began working her thumbs into his flesh, massaging the knots she found. It was painful at first, but then as his muscles began to relax, so did he. Christine smiled as he began to go slack underneath her kneading fingers and said, "Lie down on your stomach. I'm going to get some oil and I'll be right back."

"For what?"

"I'm going to give you a proper massage," she answered and got up to hurry across the small cave to the place she kept her medicines. She had a little jar of clear oil that had been pressed from a small, dark-green fruit that grew nearby. It was not good to eat, but its oil was sublime in fragrance and texture, perfect for moisturizing work-dried and chapped skin. It absorbed almost immediately and did not leave an oily residue. It was the best hand lotion she'd ever found.

Spock was still sitting on the bedding, the firelight painting his lean, sculpted chest with reddish highlights, when she returned. "Take your pants off, too," she decided. "I might as well do your legs while I'm at it."

He lifted an eyebrow at her, then unlaced his breeches and squirmed out of them, leaving him clad only in his loincloth. At her gesture, he obediently lay down on his stomach, his face cradled against his crossed arms. She flipped his long braid of hair out of the way and knelt beside him, then poured a minute bit of the oil into the palm of one hand and, setting the jar aside, vigorously rubbed her hands together to warm it.

Then she laid her hands on his cleanly muscled back, working her way from shoulders to waist and back again, making sure every inch was manipulated and free of tension. At first, she could feel his resistance, but by the time she had done his buttocks, treating them as clinically as the rest of him, and moved down to the backs of his thighs, he was completely limp. Glancing up at him, she noted that his eyes were closed in blissful relaxation.

She worked his thighs and calves, then said, "Turn over now."

He did so, his eyes still closed, half-asleep under her ministrations, and she began on his feet, massaging the arches and working each toe. At one point, he groaned softly with pleasure, although he still didn't open his eyes. She moved up the length of one long, hard leg then did the other.

By the time she reached the top of his thighs, she noted that there was a bulge in his loin cloth that hadn't been there before. "You're too tired for that," she told him.

"Perhaps," he murmured but otherwise didn't move.

Shifting, she began work on his shoulders, moving down one arm to his biceps, then his forearm and finally to his large, strong hand. Moving to the other arm, she repeated her massage, then poured more oil into her hands and spread it over his chest, kneading it into his beautifully molded pectorals and firm stomach muscles.

As she leaned over him, massaging his body with long, deep strokes, he abruptly reached up and caught her shoulders, halting her. He was wide awake now, his dark eyes depthless as he gazed up at her. At one with his thoughts, she leaned down and met his lips in a hungry, seeking kiss, their tongues playing against one another.

As she lifted her mouth from his, she asked softly, " _Are_ you too tired?"

One eyebrow quirked up a bit and there was devilish humor in his eyes. "You promised me a proper massage," he reminded her. "There is still one area you have not touched."

"Then I'd better do it right, hadn't I?" she smiled back and got to her feet. He lay watching her, curious, as she went and wedged the door guard in place. Coming back to stand over him, she slowly reached behind her and untied her halter top, then moved her hands up to undo the neck tie.

The leather bra dropped away, baring her full, pregnancy-swollen breasts, her nipples enlarged and protruding. Allowing him to gaze at her for a long moment, she unpinned her hair and shook it out, the waist-length sun-bleached mass cascading about her shoulders and torso. Then, her hands went to her side and pulled loose the tie holding her belt and loin cloth. As she did so, the garment fell to the ground, leaving her naked, her skin rosy in the firelight.

Her belly swollen with child, her heavy breasts jutting proudly, her long mane of hair rippling around her, Christine seemed to be an ancient fertility goddess come to life. Her body was muscular and honed from the constant work and exercise of her existence, adding to her statuesque build. Spock had never seen her appear as beautiful as she did to him now.

She sank to her knees beside him and bent once more to meet his lips, this time all of her sexual power burning through the kiss she placed there. His hands slipped up around her shoulders, attempting to draw her down to him, but she pulled back.

"No, I haven't finished your massage yet," she whispered.

She shifted to his side and slowly untied the leather strap that held his loin cloth in place. Her movements deliberate, she then removed his last remaining article of clothing and set it aside. "Let's see... where was I?" she mused. "Oh, yes..." She retrieved the little jar of oil and poured a bit into her palms, again rubbing her hands together vigorously for warmth.

But she didn't touch his groin, as he expected. Instead, she began again on his chest, her hands making long strokes down his torso to end just below his navel. She repeated this move again and again, allowing her palms to slip over his hardening nipples, over his ribs, and then lower and lower toward his hips. With each stroke, she carefully avoided any contact with his full erection or his groin area.

His breath was coming a little faster as he lay watching her, the one untouched area of his body becoming the focus of increasing anticipation. She nonchalantly ignored the yearning shaft and worked her way around his inner thighs, massaging down between his spread legs, tantalizingly close to her goal, but never touching it.

Then, she warmed a tiny bit more oil in her hands and suddenly and unexpectedly cupped her heated palm around his testicles. His whole body jerked in surprise and he gasped involuntarily. She was watching his reaction, her blue eyes hooded, a little smile lifting the corners of her lips. With careful movements, she began to fondle him gently, applying only the lightest pressure to the delicate area, but it was enough to nearly undo him.

His erection was now pulsing hard against his belly and he reached down to grasp himself. She slapped his hand away.

"No touching!" she ordered him. "That's my job."

He looked at her in surprise, then lay back obediently, his face flushed. Satisfied, she slid her hand up to the hard length of his manhood, her palm still slick with lubricant. Slipping her other hand underneath the hot column of flesh, she coated the entire surface with the warm oil, using both hands to stroke, caress, roll him between palms.

Within a short time, he was lost in building ecstasy, his back arched and his hips lifted off the bedding, gripping the furs tightly. She changed her grasp on him, holding him more firmly with one hand and pumping him from head to base with rhythmic purpose.

His eyes clenched shut, he swelled to rock hardness within her grip and then, in a strangled gasp, moaned, "Heya!" Abruptly, he was coming, unable to hold back any longer. The hot, creamy liquid flooded over her hand, now holding him solidly and motionless, allowing him to empty himself in climax.

In a moment, he slumped back limply and his penis began to quickly soften. "But what about you?" he asked in a whisper, totally spent.

"Oh, I'll get mine," she assured him, smiling affectionately. "In the morning when you're rested. But you're so tired right now, I want you to sleep. I knew this would completely relax you. I'll clean you up and cover you when I'm done. Sleep, my darling. Sleep..."

He needed no further urging. Exhausted from the journey, soothed by the massage, and now with the last fragments of tension expunged by the orgasm, he allowed his head to fall back and his eyes to close. He was deep asleep before she had retrieved a warm, wet chamois to bathe him with. She did so gently, cleaning him thoroughly, then dried him and pulled the bed furs up over his nakedness.

Then she washed and dried her hands, tossed out the dirty water and put her oil away with her medicines. Checking to make sure Sapel was sleeping as peacefully as her husband, she banked the fire and slipped into the furs beside Spock. It hadn't been easy resisting the temptation to initiate full sexual intercourse with him, but she knew he was in no shape for it tonight.

Tomorrow would be better and she could wait. He was back home with her and that was all that mattered.

* * *

When Christine next awakened, it was to daylight and childish laughter. Spock was spooned against her back, one arm draped across her middle, holding her close. She could tell by his deep, even breathing that he was still asleep. Nevertheless, she roused herself and lifted her head to look toward the hearth.

Sapel was sitting cross-legged by the fireplace, sharing his breakfast of cold, roast hare with the little red-brown animal he'd befriended across the creek. Startled, Christine pulled herself out of Spock's embrace and reached for her knee-length dress, sitting up and pulling it over her head before she rose from the sleeping furs. Spock stirred and rolled over onto his back, blinking awake, rubbing one hand over his eyes.

As Christine knelt beside her son, the boy said in delight, "Mama, look! It musta followed us last night!"

"So I see," she answered softly.

"What is that animal doing here?" came a resonant male voice and they both turned to see Spock sitting up, one forearm resting on an upraised knee, the sleeping furs still covering him to his waist. His piercing gaze was focused on Christine, his eyes black under lowered brows.

"Oh, Spock, it's not hurting anything," she responded flippantly.

"That is not an answer to my question," he answered, still pinning her with his steady glare.

"It's just a baby," she argued.

"And how large will this baby get?" he retorted with deadly calm.

"Not very big, I'm sure." She turned away from her husband, pointedly closing the discussion.

Spock frowned despite his intention to remain as emotionless as possible. "Christine, that animal is not going to become a pet. We cannot feed it."

"Nonsense," she answered. "You had a pet when you were a boy. Why shouldn't Sapel?"

"That is hardly an equitable comparison!" Spock replied. "The circumstances were different and a _sehlat_ is not the same as ... as whatever this animal is."

"No, hardly any comparison at all," Christine answered. "There's quite a difference between a pet that's as big as a Clydesdale and a cute little baby like this. How much did that horse of yours eat anyway, hmm?"

Spock sat fuming for a long moment, trying to think of a way out of the corner he'd argued himself into. "You are being deliberately obtuse, wife," he finally said in frustration.

"And you've lost this argument, husband," she responded, smiling smugly.

Sapel gave his father his best, pleading look. "Please, Papa? Please can I keep it? I'll take care of it, I promise! I'll feed it and water it and clean up after it and..."

"Very well!" Spock interrupted. "Only do not come crying to me when it nips your finger or tears up your shoes! Where are my pants?" He looked around, spied his leather breeches and loincloth and snatched them with a quick exasperated movement. Hurriedly pulling them on, he got up and bent to grab his moccasins as he strode toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Christine asked.

"To meditate on how we're going to feed this beast!" Spock answered in passing and ducked underneath the entrance portal.

For a second, Christine thought he was genuinely angry, then burst into laughter as she saw that the direction he took was toward their downstream bathroom area. "Don't meditate too long!" she called after him. "We have things to do today!"

Still chuckling, she turned back to her son. "Now ... what shall we call this little moocher?"

* * *

Within a short period of time, Mooch had made herself completely at home. Naturally clean, she always went out when nature called and, like a cat, covered her droppings. She had an omnivorous appetite and ate nearly anything, although she vastly preferred meat, insects and fish. There were a few fruits and vegetables she flatly refused, but she liked to hold raw tubers between her paws and gnaw at them with her cheek teeth.

She possessed an insatiable curiosity, however, and investigated every square inch of the cave and all the family's possessions. Spock came close to banishing her when she chewed up three of his best arrows, but Christine pointed out it was only because he hadn't cleaned them thoroughly after their last use and Mooch was merely responding to the faint residual smell of blood clinging to them. Then Mooch herself inveigled her way back into Spock's good graces by hopping into his lap one evening after supper and turning the full measure of her considerable charm on him. For all his protestations to the contrary, Spock had always been a sucker for small, furry animals and before long he found himself stroking this one's sleek russet fur and oversized ears.

Summer passed into autumn uneventfully, with most of their efforts geared toward the coming winter. Spock hunted extensively, bringing home both large game and small. The rains had made the plains lush and the herds had responded bountifully. The meat was cut and hung to dry as jerky or went into the salt barrels for curing. When not hunting, he spent his time cutting and stacking wood to cure or ranging afield with Sapel and Mooch often in tow, searching out food plants and noting which fruits and grains would soon be ready to harvest.

Christine, despite her advancing pregnancy, worked ceaselessly. The pelts of all the animals Spock killed had to be stretched, scraped and cured into leather or furs. It was a laborious job to do one hide and having several going at once kept her busy continuously. She had long ago taught Spock how to work the raw leather and he often switched jobs with her while she went out gathering food plants or preparing them for preservation. Even Sapel had a hare pelt that he was practicing on, although his attention span usually didn't focus too long on such a tedious chore.

When not helping his parents, Sapel often found himself on the banks of the pond, fishing. There weren't a lot of fish in the waterfall-fed pool, but he often brought back one or two big enough for eating. He'd been taught to keep only those of a certain size and release any others to grow and breed. Otherwise, Spock and Christine granted their growing son the time to simply be a child and enjoy the last hot autumn days with his new companion.

On one evening late in October, the family ventured up onto the plains for an after dinner walk and to wind down from the day's work. The sun was setting in a spectacular blaze of crimson and gold and the planet's three moons were already beginning to rise in the east, all of them full and yellow. The day had been warm but now a slight cool breeze bent the grass stems in waves running ahead of the strolling trio, almost like ripples on a vast amber sea.

Mooch had grown a lot and was now the size of a small dog. She busied herself with hunting rodents in the grass and Sapel ran excitedly after her, leaving his parents to walk hand-in-hand in their wake.

Pausing on a high point in the rolling prairie, Spock put his arm around his wife's considerably thickened waist and drew her against his side. "How is our son?" he asked, gently massaging her swollen belly.

"Our _daughter_ is just fine," Christine responded with an amused smile. "Kicking a little right now and becoming quite a burden!"

"Perhaps I should initiate a meld with him and instruct him to refrain from such activity," Spock answered.

"Yes, why don't you tell _her_ that, hmm?"

Spock pulled his wife a little closer and looked down into her face, his eyes filled with affection for the woman in his arms. "Do you not wish for another son, my wife?"

She slipped her arms around him and held him as closely as her bulk permitted. "I don't care what it is, Spock. Really. I just want this baby to be healthy and strong."

"As do I, _t'hy'la_ ," he answered, stroking her long sun-bleached hair back from her cheeks and bending to kiss her. "That you bear my child within you is miracle enough. I would not presume to quibble over its sex."

She laughed in delight. "As if we had any choice in the matter! We'll take what we get, won't we?"

"Undoubtedly," he replied with a smile, trailing his fingertips across her meld points and sending his love for her through their bondlink.

The evening wind gusted a little from the west as the last sliver of sun disappeared below the horizon, bringing with it an unexpected sound. The high eerie howl rode the breeze like a banshee's wail, faint enough to be far away, but uncomfortably close. It was joined by another and yet another before it peaked in an unearthly chorus and faded away.

Christine found the flesh on her arms and neck standing in goose pimples and clung to Spock in a dread as old as time. "What was _that_?!" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Wolves," he answered, his eyes searching the darkening land for any sign of the animals that had once almost killed him.

Sapel and Mooch came racing up and the boy threw himself into his mother's embrace. "Did you hear that, Mama?" he asked fearfully. Mooch was intently alert, her large ears pricked in the direction of the sound's origin, the hair along her back standing up.

"I believe we should go back home," Spock said, still scanning the twilight. "They are nowhere close, but it is best to be safe."

He got no argument from his wife or son and they turned and walked back to the valley that sheltered them. As they strode along, Christine asked, "We've never had wolves here!"

"They are undoubtedly attracted by the abundant herds. It must be easy hunting for them," Spock responded. "Much easier than the elk they usually hunt in the forests to the east."

She shivered. "I don't like this," she stated, almost to herself. "I can't forget what they did to you that first winter here. It was sheer luck that they didn't kill you, Spock!"

He reached out and took her hand, transmitting reassurance through his touch. "I seriously doubt that they will stay in the area once the herds begin to migrate. They won't follow them south and the elk will soon be gathering for rut. The wolves will go back to the forests once that happens."

"I hope so," Christine answered, but she couldn't shake the chill of premonition that had settled on her like a blanket of ice. Something told her that this winter was going to be different.

* * *

Autumn rapidly arrived and the family busied themselves with harvest, taking advantage of the still warm days in which to gather as many of the ripe fruits and nuts as they could before the animals ate them all. It was a race every year which the animals invariably won, for they had the three people outnumbered by a vast measure. And the creatures were not begrudged their own portion of the harvest. They too were fattening and storing nourishment for the long winter and many of them would not live to see spring if too much of their food was taken from them.

By November, as they reckoned the planet's year, Spock and Christine had gathered about as much as they could. The year had been a good one and they had baskets of dried fruits, winnowed grain, and succulent nutmeats cached in the back reaches of the cave. They could begin to slow down a bit in their constant search for provisions.

Christine was slowing down as well. Now in her eighth month of pregnancy, she was feeling bloated and constantly tired. The baby was pressing against her diaphragm, hampering her breathing, and she tended to pant slightly when she walked or worked. She had real trouble getting up by herself now and Spock provided her with a sturdy walking stick that she could use as leverage when he wasn't around to lend her a hand.

The cold came at the end of the month, the first winter front blowing in with sleet and snow. For two days and nights, the wind howled through the valley, coating the trees and ground with a blanket of white, causing the creek's edges to crust over with a layer of ice, although a center path remained clear and running. It was not hard winter yet, only its first frosty breath of what was to come.

Huddled in the warmth of their underground home, the family went about activities that could be done during the winter months, their preparations serving them well.

As Christine sat near the cave entrance to get enough light to sew baby clothes out of soft, velvety leather, Sapel read to her from the scrolls his mother had written. He was quite fluent in both English and Vulcan now, though still at an elementary level.

Nearby, listening to his son read aloud, Spock worked at knapping flint arrowheads and spear points. Mooch was curled into the bedding furs, asleep, visible only as a russet mound.

After a time, Sapel tired of his schoolwork and gazed wistfully through the small opening in the door guard. The wooden frame was covered with a bison hide to keep out the cold, but areas were left open for light and ventilation. Outside, the snow was still drifting down steadily and showed no signs of letting up.

"Can't I go out and play in it?" the boy asked longingly.

"No, it's too wet," Christine answered. "If it was just dry snow, I'd consider it, but I don't want you getting wet and cold and getting sick because of it."

"Aw, Mama, I won't get wet," Sapel whined.

She sighed and put down her sewing. "Sapel, don't argue with me. You will get wet and you'll get a cold or bronchitis as a result. I'm not feeling well enough to nurse you through something like that if I don't have to."

The boy looked unconvinced and tried to appeal to a higher court. "Papa, can't I—"

"Absolutely not," Spock interrupted without looking up from his work.

"But—"

"No. And that's final." Spock calmly brought his hammer stone down onto the flint nodule he was holding and watched in satisfaction as a blade of the gray stone broke away in perfect cleavage. "And do not try that tactic again," he added. "If your mother forbids you to do something, I will not overrule her. Or vice versa."

Sapel pouted for a few minutes, stung by the reprimand. "I betcha the baby'll get to do anything he wants to," he muttered.

Both his parents looked up and stared at him, Spock with a reproving expression, Christine looking more amused.

"Come here, baby doll," she said and Sapel obediently scooted over to her side. Christine hugged her son and continued, "You know, as the big brother, you're going to have a lot of responsibilities."

"Why?"

"Well, your little brother or sister is going to look up to you to find out what to do. You've got to help him or her do the right thing."

"Like what?"

"Well, like making sure he doesn't fall in the creek or the pond," Christine mused. "Or seeing that he doesn't wander off. Of course, you'll have to show him a lot of things, like how to make a hopper bug jump off a leaf, or how to pet Mooch, or how to draw pictures in the dirt or make mud pies. Do you think you can do that?"

Sapel pondered the question seriously then answered, "Yeah, I guess so. Mama, is it a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know, honey. We'll all be surprised."

"I'd rather have a brother."

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see," his mother smiled. Then she reached for his hand and pressed it against her distended belly. "Oooh, feel right there! Do you feel the baby moving?"

Sapel was still for a minute then jerked his hand away. "That feels weird!" he proclaimed. He was thoughtful for a minute, then cautiously moved his hand back to Christine's abdomen. Then he smiled broadly as the baby kicked again.

"Mama?" he asked after a minute. "How's the baby gonna get out of your tummy? Is Papa gonna have to cut you open?"

"Lord, I hope not!" she answered reflexively and exchanged gazes with her husband, both startled at the thought. Then she turned her attention back to her child.

"No, Sapel, there is a special place between a woman's legs where babies come out," she said.

"Like where you pee-pee?"

"Close, but it's just for babies."

"Do I have one?"

"No, honey, only women have them," his mother replied patiently.

"When's the baby gonna be here?" the boy wanted to know.

"Oh, in about a month or so. Maybe a little sooner, maybe a little later." Christine shrugged. "I'm not exactly sure."

"Good," Sapel answered, getting to his feet. "'Cause I don't like you fat."

Christine gave a burst of startled laughter at the boy's candid remark. "Well, I'll try not to be fat much longer," she answered. Chuckling again, she asked, "So, how about some lunch? Are you hungry?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Sapel responded eagerly.

"Okay. Go put your reading scrolls away and we'll get some lunch going."

The boy hurried to comply and Christine looked over to find Spock gazing at her in amusement. "He does not get it from me," the Vulcan said with mock solemnity.

"He gets it from your mother, I'll bet," she answered. "Were you like this as a boy?"

"Of course not," Spock replied, completely serious. "Vulcan children are studious and well-behaved."

"I'll just bet," she answered with a lop-sided smile. "If we ever get back home, I'm going to do some checking up on you!" The mention of home brought a sudden constriction to her throat and she hurriedly looked away, out the door, so that he wouldn't see that her eyes were suddenly bright and wet.

He saw it anyway. "Do not think of it, _t'hy'la_ ," he said softly, feeling her heartache reverberate through their bond. "Think only of the future."

She turned back and smiled bravely. "Think of what?" she retorted, deliberately denying any awareness of the pain she had felt. "The baby just kicked me hard, that's all."

He didn't answer, his dark brown eyes trained knowingly on her blue ones. She couldn't fool him, she realized, and looked back down at the little dress she was sewing. "Well, I'll finish this after lunch," she said. Carefully, she laid it aside and smoothed it, her fingers lingering on the butter-soft leather. "Let's see ... what shall we have? Sapel, how does grilled grain cakes sound?"

"Great! Do we have any honey?" the boy responded.

"Why don't you run look in the storage area?" his mother suggested, back to her normal self. "I'll get the stones hot and the batter mixed."

Christine hefted herself up and went to get the ingredients for the simple bread. Spock let his gaze follow her for a moment, then went back to his flint napping.

* * *

Spock awoke in the night to discover that Christine was missing from his side. He raised his head and saw her sitting near the cave entrance, wrapped in a fur against the night's cold. Quietly, he got up and went to her, his own sleeping fur clutched around him.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a low voice.

She glanced up at him, smiling wanly. "Just too uncomfortable to sleep. I have heartburn so bad I can't stand it. Every time I lie down, it comes up my throat and chokes me. I'm hoping this will help." She showed him a stone cup in her hand.

"Some of your medicinal tea?" he guessed.

"Yes. It calms down the acid somewhat." She took a sip of the herbal brew.

Spock settled down behind her, his back against the cave wall. "Here," he said and drew her back into his arms. She scooted back willingly between his legs, leaning against his chest, taking comfort in his solid warmth.

"That feels good," she murmured as he wrapped his sleeping fur around them both.

"You need to sleep, _t'hy'la_ ," he said quietly into her ear. "If you cannot sleep lying down, I will support you in this position. Perhaps that, too, will help."

She made a little sound deep in her throat and snuggled into his embrace. "I love you, Spock," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"You do not have to vocalize that," he smiled. "This makes it quite obvious." Softly, he rested his hand on her abdomen.

"Indulge me," she answered and gazed up at him adoringly.

They sat in silence for a short while, gazing out at the snow-covered landscape they were able to glimpse through the vent opening in the door guard. It had stopped snowing and a faint, lambent light reflected off the frosty blanket covering the land. It was peaceful and hushed, heavy with the quiet only a snowfall can bring.

Then, from far away across the creek, out on the plains that stretched away to the west, a lone, mournful wail came floating across the stillness. Three more quickly joined it, then silence fell again.

"I hate those things," Christine said, tense and alert.

"They won't bother us," Spock answered in a soothing voice, although he too had stiffened at the sound.

A movement next to them jerked their attention away from the door, then they saw that it was only Mooch, drawn from her warm nest in Sapel's bed by the howls. She sat on her haunches, ears pricked, her eyes fixed on some point outside, far off in the distance. For several minutes, the kit didn't move except for a twitch of her ears to adjust her lock on the sound or the constant quiver of her nose as she tested the air for any hint of foreign scent. Then she emitted a high, plaintive whine and shifted her footing. The hair along the crest of her back lifted slightly for a few seconds, then lay back into its sleek pattern.

Spock and Christine had both been staring at the animal's behavior, tensed to respond if she burst into action. But as Mooch relaxed, so did they. The danger had passed apparently and Christine sank back into her husband's strong arms, shaking.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No, I'm scared out of my wits," she replied. "I wish they would just go away," she sighed, suddenly exhausted.

Spock pulled her a little closer and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. "I will keep you safe, beloved," he assured her, his deep, rough baritone comforting her like a lullaby.

But she couldn't shake the premonition. "I don't know why I'm so afraid," she murmured. "Maybe because it's getting so near to the time the baby is due, but I'm so scared I feel like I could start screaming at the drop of a hat."

He kissed her temple and whispered, "Everything will be all right, _t'hy'la_ , you will see. I won't let any harm come to you or our children. Go to sleep now. I will be here with you."

"Don't ever leave me, Spock," she answered in a barely audible voice, losing her battle to stay awake. "I couldn't stand it."

"Never, my wife," he replied, resting his cheek against her hair. "I will never leave you." She didn't reply, sinking fast into slumber, secure in his embrace.

Far across the prairies, so faint now that it was only a hint of sound, the wail of the wolves rose once more and drifted like death across the vast, white expanse, tinting the pristine night with the color of blood.

 

END OF PART FOUR

PART FIVE – "PILGRIMAGE" – FOLLOWS

 


	5. Year Five -- Pilgrimage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence and explicit language. Be prepared.

**Present Day**

The pony-sized animal got to her feet, turned around several times in the bed of straw and then lay down again, her flanks quivering as another contraction gripped her plump body. She turned her muzzle toward the pain and then lay down flat on her side. That didn't help and once more she heaved herself up, turning again to get away from the torment.

To the side, standing watch in the windy night, a man, woman and boy kept well away but ready to help if necessary. "Come on, Mezzie, you can do it," the woman whispered, almost to herself.

"What if she can't get it out, Mama?" the boy asked, concerned. The pony was a favorite of his and he couldn't bear the thought that she might die.

The tall, black-haired man laid a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "It is not time to worry yet, Sapel," he said, himself caught up in the little drama unfolding in the lean-to stall.

The animal they were watching was not a horse, but one of the native species of Terra Two, a plains grazer that resembled the early equine, _mesohippus_. She was a dull yellow in color, her legs striped dark brown, her upright mane and tail almost black. She wasn't much bigger than a large sized dog, with short sturdy legs and three-toed feet. They had captured her far to the north near their summer home and her innately docile nature had allowed them to train her to haul a pack travois on their journey here to Sea Home, where they frequently wintered.

They hadn't known when they captured her that she had been in foal, but now as spring neared, her time had come to deliver her baby. Normally, she would have separated herself from the herd and found a secluded place to drop her foal, but her home now was a corral built to one side of the cabin in which her owners lived. They had constructed a lean-to stall for her and it was here that she was laboring to bring forth her offspring.

The mare was standing with her hind legs splayed a bit, her back arched and her tail raised, straining. In the torch light, the three people could now see a bulge visible at the mare's vulva. The animal gave another determined heave and, with a gush of birth fluids, the foal's front feet and muzzle appeared. She looked around as if surprised, then strained again and pushed her foal out to land in the straw, still mostly encased in the thin amniotic sac.

The cord broke as the mare turned and began to snuffle at the wriggling little creature, an action that further tore the sac, allowing the foal to snort and kick reflexively as it drew in its first breath of air. Mezzie began to lick and nibble at her baby, drying it, stimulating it, encouraging it to flex its new muscles. Instinct set the little creature into motion, minutes old and already trying to rise. It struggled, gained its feet, and tumbled at once.

Sapel started through the corral fence, but Spock tightened his grip and pulled the boy back. "Even a domestic animal may attack when it's just given birth," he warned. "Mezzie is still half wild. Do not upset her. She is doing what needs to be done."

"But the baby needs help getting up," Sapel argued.

"No, just watch," Christine said. "Its legs are just too new. It'll be up soon."

As if to prove her words, the foal lurched up once more, spraddle-legged, swaying, and managed to stay upright for nearly a full minute before its limited strength gave way and it went down into the straw, exhausted. The mare licked and prodded more urgently. Once more, the foal made a supreme effort and got its ridiculously long legs underneath it. A puff of wind nearly knocked it over, but it recovered, its muscles firming with every passing second, and this time it took a hesitant step. Another instinct was beginning to call it and, with shaking, rickety steps, the little animal found its mother's flanks and the engorged teats underneath.

Within a few seconds, it was suckling, the rich, life-giving milk filling its stomach with its first meal. As it was doing so, the mare's flanks quivered again and she cocked her tail, delivering the afterbirth and the remainder of the birth fluids. She turned and smelled them, then moved as far away as possible in the lean-to, the foal following shakily after her. In the wild, she would have moved them a good distance away, for predators would scent the blood and come to investigate.

Now, being so close to the detritus of birth made the horse nervous and she continued to move restlessly about, searching for a place of safety. The people watching her had anticipated that.

"Christine, you and Sapel try giving her some food and water now to distract her," said Spock. "I'll clean out the stall and get rid of the afterbirth. She'll feel better once she can no longer smell blood in the air."

Cautiously, Christine and Sapel entered the corral, one bearing a platter of grain that Mezzie found particularly tempting, the other a stone bowl of water. The mare pricked her ears and stared warily at them, but they were familiar and she had learned to associate them with good things. And, too, she was hungry and tired following her ordeal.

While the mare ate and her colt nursed, Spock climbed into the stall and hurriedly raked straw over the blood and tissue of the afterbirth, scraping it onto a hide that he'd laid down. Once the mess was cleaned away, he spread clean straw and fodder in the mare's stall, then tied up the ends of the hide and hefted it out of the corral.

"I'll dispose of this and be back shortly," he said, squeezing through the rough cut poles.

"Be careful," his wife admonished. "I don't like the way this weather is looking. I think it's going to rain."

Spock spared a moment to gaze at the sky. It was dawn, but the sky was still dark, scudded over with heavy, ominous clouds, blowing in from the direction of the sea. Here at their hillside home above the Southern Sea, the spring mornings were generally mild and foggy but this dawn had a strong, wet wind blowing in from the ocean. Even from this distance, Spock could hear breakers pounding on the beach, evidence of a storm.

"Get the animals bedded down then you and Sapel return to the cabin," the Vulcan decided. "It will only take me a few minutes to get rid of this. I believe we should prepare for something a bit worse than rain."

Christine smiled and saluted. "Aye, aye, Cap'n. We'll batten down and prepare to weather."

Her husband lifted an eyebrow and glanced in her direction. He didn't answer her, but her good humor put him in a like mood. He hefted the load of fouled straw onto his shoulder and started down a path in the surrounding woods to a crevasse in the rock where they dumped their discards and inedible or unusable bits of food. It was a good ways from the cabin but he could walk it in about five minutes. Scavengers had found the dump site and cleared away nearly everything they tossed out.

As Spock walked along, the cold wind stung his cheeks, whipping his long black hair into his face, and he was suddenly reminded of another time, years before, when he had made a similar journey. That one had ended in a tragedy beyond his imagining and had nearly been the end of all of them here on this lonely, primitive planet. For a time, it had seemed that the Romulans who had stranded them here would get their wish after all ... That neither he nor Christine would survive their exile and all that they had accomplished would be lost forever...

* * *

**Year Five...**

Knee-deep in snow, Christine puffed her way back from the salt barrels, carrying a chunk of venison bacon in her arms. She was hampered in her journey by the fact that she couldn't see her feet past her hugely distended belly and had to hope that she was stepping into the tracks she'd made on the short walk from the cave entrance to the cold storage area. She was eight and a half months pregnant now and the baby still had not dropped, squashing her internal organs by its bulk, making her short of breath and straining her back.

Spock appeared on the path from the pond, where he'd been checking on the extent of the ice, and gave an involuntary little cry as he saw his wife waddling along. Quickly he went to her and relieved her of her burden.

"Christine! I have told you repeatedly not to do things like this!" he scolded her, taking her arm to steady her through the snow. "If you need something, please just ask me and I will do it for you!"

"Oh, bosh!" she retorted, feeling annoyed. "I'm not an invalid. I can fetch a chunk of bacon if I want to. Anyway, I've been cooped up in that cave until I'm ready to scream. Stop hovering over me!"

"You could go into labor at any time," he continued.

"Spock, I'm a nurse, remember? I know a little bit about obstetrics." She gazed up at him with her brows set over her deep blue eyes. "The baby has not effaced and I haven't even begun to dilate. Don't panic until I tell you it's time to panic!"

He stopped and stared down at her, his eyebrows lifting in a show of offense. "Vulcans do not panic, Christine," he stated coolly. "We make logical evaluations of a situation and act accordingly."

"Yeah, yeah, how many times have I heard _that_ song?" she grumbled.

He cocked his head slightly. "Christine, you are very out-of-sorts today."

"Oh, am I?" She yanked her arm out of his grasp and turned to face him, hands on her hips. Nearly as tall as he, she still had to look up to meet his gaze and he had drawn himself up to his full height at the moment. That irritated her still more. "Well, buddy-boy, why don't you try being nearly nine months pregnant, coping with heartburn, swollen ankles, shortness of breath, backache, having to pee about every thirty minutes, and having someone dancing a jig on your pancreas, and see how cheerful you are!"

The tall Vulcan stood looking down at his bondmate, brows still elevated in surprise, and knew that he was no match for her today. He backed down. "I apologize, my wife," he said softly. "I tend to forget all the discomforts you are enduring to bring our child into the world. I spoke without thought."

His humble tone abruptly halted the rage she was working herself into. She couldn't stay mad at him when he talked like that and he knew it. She felt a little smile pull at one corner of her mouth and answered, "It's okay. I am pretty bitchy today. Sorry."

"You have no need to apologize, _t'hy'la_ ," he replied, smiling back at her. "However, I believe you have exerted yourself quite enough for the moment. Please, let me help you back inside."

She acquiesced, letting him take her arm once more to prevent her from slipping. In truth, leaning on his strong frame was comforting and, when he had guided her back into the shelter of their cave home, she pulled him down to a quick, warm kiss.

"Thanks," she said. "Now, let me have that venison back. I need a chunk of it to season these peas I'm cooking and I want to soak the rest of it for tomorrow's meal."

Spock helped Christine kneel down beside the cooking hearth, where she retrieved a flint knife and sawed off a fist-sized piece of meat. This she tossed into a stone pot where pea-like legumes were beginning to boil. They still had several hours to cook before they were soft enough to eat, but they were coming along nicely. She gave the mixture a stir with a wooden spoon and then set a crude wooden lid over the pot.

Then she turned to the rest of the food preparation. The salted meat was inedible straight out of the brine barrel, except used as seasoning. It had to be soaked in water for two to three days to dissolve the excess salt and make it palatable.

As Christine took a bowl and poured water into it from one of the water bags, she asked, "Where's Sapel? You didn't leave him by the pond, did you?"

"Of course not," Spock answered. "He is sledding on the bluff. I will check on him again in a short while. He is quite safe."

"Is Mooch with him?"

"Yes."

"She's a good watchdog," Christine commented, immersing the salted venison in water and setting it aside. "I feel a lot better with her around."

"Indeed," Spock replied, bending to snatch an orange tuber from the mound of pared vegetables waiting to be cooked. "I was not particularly happy when you took her in, but I do admit that she has made our lives a bit more enjoyable."

Christine sat back on her heels and smiled up at him, rubbing her tight, swollen abdomen. "I knew she'd win you over sooner or later. You didn't fool me one bit!"

"Hmmm," he replied noncommittally. "I believe I will go find our wayward child and make sure he has not decided to try something foolish in my absence."

"Good idea," his wife commented. "I'll give a shout when supper is ready."

He trailed his fingertips along her cheek as he moved past her then ducked underneath the doorway and disappeared back outside. Christine smiled after him and rubbed her stomach once more. The little pains she had been having worried her a bit, although she knew they weren't true labor pains. Still, the baby could be dropping finally and, if so, then it wouldn't be long before he or she made an appearance. As she stirred the simmering legumes, Christine turned her thoughts to getting the final preparations made and ready for the birth.

* * *

Life had not been kind of late to the big gray animal making his way along the edge of the woodlands. Until recently, he had been the alpha in his pack but age was catching up with the old werewolf and he had recently been evicted by a younger male, one of his own sons. The battle for supremacy had injured him badly, but he had managed to get away before he fell under the vicious claws and tearing teeth of the others.

The old wolf was a veteran of dominance wars, but this time he had been vanquished. While the new leader howled in triumph and then mounted the alpha female to claim her, the injured lobo ran for his life, as far as his ripped legs would take him. Finally he could go no farther and stopped to lick his wounds.

That had been two weeks ago and now the old wolf nosed along the river channel in search of food. The winter snows had already begun and game herds had migrated out of the area. There was nothing left except hares and burrowing prairie diggers. Occasionally he managed to catch one of these before it could scurry to safety but there was precious little meat there to sustain a top predator.

The werewolf didn't know, of course, the name he'd been given by the alien exiles to his planet. In fact, he'd never even seen one. And, although the people referred to his kind as wolves, there was actually nothing wolf-like about him. His was a vaguely canid body shape, but possessing traits that could have as easily belonged to a bear or a hyena. His broad paws were catlike, with retracting claws on the toes, but very un-cat-like in that the thumb-claws on both front feet were huge and shaped like sickles, slashing weapons that could disembowel an animal with one swipe. His muzzle, though, was the real nightmare and was the reason for the sobriquet "werewolf". Instead of canine teeth, he possessed huge, sharply pointed incisors like some monster rodent straight from hell, and the side teeth were solid shearing blades.

Added to his already formidable appearance, the old male was missing an eye and his face and body possessed the evidence of battles fought and won, or in the recent case, battles lost. He was gaunt from lack of food and reduced to scavenging for whatever edible material he could find.

Here by the river, his keen nose led him to the rotting carcass of an unidentifiable animal. It was merely a lump of fur and bone, but the wolf ripped it apart nevertheless, hungrily searching for any crumb that might fill his empty belly. There was scarcely a mouthful and he worked his tongue to rid himself of the fur that had gotten between his teeth.

A new smell, faint and tantalizing, now tickled his nose and he snuffled eagerly to locate it. Setting off to follow the scent, the wolf eventually found himself near a big pile of brush that had been gathered on a rise above a little pond and creek.

A waterfall trickled through the ice that had formed over the crest of an escarpment to splash into the half-frozen pond below. Scattered around the brush pile was an odd assortment of bones, flesh and offal, some fresh, some days old and severely gnawed by previous scavengers. The odor caused saliva to burst into the wolf's mouth and he licked his chops at the delicious tidbits.

But something held him back. There were other smells that he could detect and they were ones he'd never encountered before. Unbeknownst to him, they were the smells of people and woodsmoke and cooking food. And they frightened him into wariness.

Across the creek valley, up on the top of the bluff, two creatures were moving, one of them upright and noisy, the other low and sleek. Both were running back and forth in the snow in apparent aimlessness. Again the wolf's mouth salivated, because instinct told him that this was prey and prey that would be easily caught. Still, he did not rush to attack. They were too far away and his hunter's mind told him to watch and wait. He sank back into the cover of the brush pile and spent the rest of the afternoon, patiently biding his time and learning the ways of the strange animals that inhabited this valley.

* * *

Christine was already in bed when Spock slipped in beside her. She was lying on her side, facing away from him, and he rolled over the same way, molding his body to hers and slipping one arm over her waist to draw her closer to his warmth. It felt absolutely delicious, and she smiled and made a little sound of pleasure, wriggling against him.

There was something decidedly sensuous about the movement and he raised an eyebrow in recognition of the fact. "Is it so, my wife?" he murmured into her ear. "Do you think that is wise?"

"Mmmmm ..." she answered, turning a bit more toward him, her eyes closed in bliss. "What do you mean?"

"You are so close to the end of your pregnancy," he replied softly. "Is it wise to be in this frame of mind?"

"I'm fine. The baby may have begun to drop a little, but it's still okay to have sex." She opened her deep blue eyes and gazed up at him, her manner more intense. "I want you to make love to me, Spock," she said in a smoky voice. "I have a feeling it will be the last time for a long time."

Beginning to feel aroused, he moved his hand to cup one of her large, swollen breasts, caressing it gently, aware that it was tender. Then he surprised her by slipping his hand up to lie flat over her sternum, feeling the quick hard thud underneath. Her heart was beating rapidly and he realized that she was breathing heavily.

Alarmed, he raised himself up a bit and asked, "Christine, are you quite all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Why?" she responded.

"Because your heart and breathing rates are quite elevated."

"I'll be okay, Spock. It's just the way I'm lying. It's hard to catch my breath this way." She shifted onto her side to face him and for several minutes rested quietly with her eyes closed, consciously willing her heart to stop pounding and her breathing to even out. He watched her in concern but then she opened her eyes to smile at him confidently. "There. I told you I'd be fine. Now, where were we?"

"I do not think this is a good idea, Christine," he answered. "If we continue, your metabolism will become elevated once more."

Her lashes lowered seductively over her sparkling blue eyes. "You bet it'll become elevated! And so will yours! Among other things." She emphasized her statement by sliding her hand down his hip toward the tantalizing treasures below. Quickly he caught her wrist and stopped her. "Be absolutely honest with me," he insisted, gazing intently into her eyes. " _How do you feel?_ "

She halted her playful attempts to touch him and was serious. "I feel extremely pregnant and a little short of breath and actually not very sexy. What I mean is, I feel so bloated that I think _you_ don't think I'm sexy. But I also feel a need to love you tonight, Spock. I don't know if it's raging hormones or just cabin fever, but I want you so much, darling. I want you to hold me and love me and have sex with me all night long. I want you to show me how much you desire me ... as a woman. As your lover. That you really _do_ love me. Does that make any sense to you?"

"Of course it does," he answered softly and stroked his fingertips down her cheek. "You are merely feeling this way because you are ready for this pregnancy to end. And it will soon. In a matter of days, I think." His fingertips lightly brushed along her face once more, slipping across her meld points. His voice had become barely audible but his eyes were drawing her into their dark brown depths, like mahogany seas that invited her to dive to their abyssal core. His voice had taken on the same quality. "And you know that I love you, _t'hy'la i'aduna. Ti'i'kh'iori, i'ni'irch t'plak. Ni'var ah'sayla. Ti' th'at t'hyleat._ " He didn't realize that he had slipped into Vulcan, but it no longer mattered. She understood his words, for they came clearly through the bondlink between them.

She ran her fingers through his thick black hair, finding his ear and fondling the pointed tip. "Make love to me then," she whispered fiercely, knowing full well what effect her caresses were having. Indeed, he closed his eyes and drew in a breath as arousal shot through him. It echoed back into her through the bond and intensified in both of them. He groaned and then seized her hand, halting her exciting touch.

Her brows lowered a little in a puzzled frown. "Or do you really _not_ desire me?" she whispered.

His dark eyes opened and locked into hers. "Not desire you?" he echoed incredulously, then pulled her close and seized her mouth with his, all the fire and need he felt for her coming through the ardent kiss. When their lips finally parted, he murmured, "Never think that, _t'hy'la_. You are everything to me."

His big, warm hand had been resting against her face and now she realized his long, powerful fingers were spreading into a meld pattern. With joy she opened her mind to him and sank into the radiance and security of his thoughts. There, as their psyches melted into one, he opened the expanse of his desire for her. The memories went back to the early weeks of their acquaintance and grew quietly throughout their time on the ship. The flashpoint came during his _pon farr_ when she'd come to his cabin to offer him comfort. He had realized then how much he had come to love her, to desire her. He had come within a hair's breadth of giving in to what his heart urged him to do — to pull her into his arms and brand her with his searing kisses, to sink with her down onto his bed and take her with all the furies and flame of a Vulcan's passion, to join with her, heart, mind and soul, and make her his wife. _Never and always, touching and touched_...

He had done that eventually, here on this wild and beautiful planet, but so much time had been wasted in between. There were other memories that burned in his mind ... her devotion and love as he recovered from the gunshot wound received on Neural, the time of shared consciousness as they fought and defeated Henoch, and finally the searing, embarrassing incident on Platonius. He had fought it, but deep within him something cried out in joy to finally embrace her, taste her lips, feel her body warm and trembling under his.

He showed her scenes from their time here on Terra Two ... her tall, athletic body glistening with water as she emerged naked from the pond following a swim ... her face suffused with rapture as she lay beneath him and received him into herself for the first time ... walking beside him through the fields of grass, her long hair rippling about her shoulders ... her many moods — laughing, crying, angry, grief-stricken, contemplative, but always, always, loving him ... and now, in this moment, enormous with his child, her fertility and femininity at their height...

And then he took them both deeper into the mind meld, to places both real and fantasy, and there he _did_ make love to her throughout the long night that ensued. In a thousand ways, in a thousand settings. Gentle and rough, mannered and unfettered, in every way they both could imagine. He took her savagely as if he were a barbarian in the throes of _pon farr_. He rolled with her in satin sheets to the music of lyres and tiny silver bells. He caressed and tumbled with her in zero-gee, free-falling endlessly toward a rainbow planet miles beneath them, and in the ultramarine embrace of oceanic deeps.

They loved in snatched, forbidden moments aboard the _Enterprise_ , knowing they would be caught at any moment. They loved on hidden beaches with copper waves washing ashore onto black sands. They loved in the marble halls of Arabian palaces and the sandstone chambers of Vulcan temples. They loved in sparkling white snows and sparkling white deserts, in grottos of impenetrable jungles and woodland clearings, in meadow and vast open prairie, on shorelines and mountain sides. In crowded cityscapes and in public, where the thrill was to seem that they were not doing anything at all.

Sometimes he was an Orion slave trader and she was his wild, lush slave, dancing for him naked and drenched with raw sexuality. Sometimes it was just the opposite. She was a Muratid matron and he was her servant, clad only in golden chains, obeying her every whim and demand. At times they were newlywed ruler-priests of Axanar, required to consummate their marriage before the assembled court to prove their mating had been accomplished. Other times they were avowed celibates, religious renunciates for whom sex was utterly forbidden ... but ultimately unable to resist the powerful erotic need between them, until they broke their oaths before the very altar of their god.

But in the end, they were exiles to a vast and beautiful planet, lost somewhere in the depths of space, surviving by their wits and sheer determination, wrapped now together in the furs of their cavern home. She was heavily pregnant with his child and tired from endless loveplay and ready to sleep. He loved her one last time, groaning as orgasm took his exhausted body yet again, and the last of his essence filled her.

She sighed in contentment and fell asleep. With the final bits of strength, he withdrew from her body and her mind, and then sleep claimed him as well.

* * *

The wolf had come and gone several times from the vicinity of the brush pile, following the sparse game in the area, scavenging frozen remains of carcasses, and with escalating regularity, living off the bits of trash tossed out by the strange creatures that resided in the cave in the valley. So far, he hadn't been brave enough to venture down into their realm, for their strange scent frightened him.

He sensed danger from the two bigger ones, whom he unconsciously identified as the alpha couple, but the little one increasingly became marked in his mind as prey. The small canid one he dismissed completely at the moment. Its kind occasionally provided a meal, but they were generally too quick and clever to be caught by the big predator.

There were long periods of time, of course, when the little one didn't appear at all or, if he did, it was in the company of the alpha male. At such times, the wolf drew back into the hiding place he had made for himself and silently watched. There would come a time when they would be careless and the young one would wander too far away.

The wolf bided his time. In his many years, he had learned to be patient.

* * *

It didn't surprise Spock when he saw Christine pause for a moment and rest a hand on her belly. He stopped what he was doing and came to her at once. "A contraction?" he asked softly.

She didn't answer for a few seconds, her expression turned inward, a little frown bunching her brows. Then she took a breath and straightened. "Yes. Not bad. I'll wait and see what happens."

She went back to mending one of Sapel's shirts and waited. Nothing else occurred for about twenty minutes. Looking at Spock, she shrugged then abruptly sucked in her breath between her teeth. Her belly had contracted again, stronger this time. When it eased, she again turned her eyes to his.

"Nineteen point two three minutes," he answered her unspoken question. She smiled at that. Despite the years of exile here, the chronometer in his head ticked off time with the same accuracy it always had.

"Okay. Let's time the next couple and see how they come." Her hands trembling a little now with fright and excitement, she tried to resume her sewing.

Right on schedule, her abdomen cramped up again. "Eighteen point three three five," Spock stated.

"Let's dispense with the fractions. Eighteen minutes is close enough." Her face was flushed now as she gazed at him happily. "I think the time has come, Spock."

"Do you want to lie down or ... anything?" he asked, a bit of anxiety evident in his voice.

"No, I'm fine." She reached over and caressed his face. "We've got lots of time yet. Remember, don't panic until I tell you to panic!" Humming to herself, she turned back to the mending, determined to get as much finished up as she could.

The afternoon passed quietly with Christine's contractions beginning to come at slowly more frequent intervals. Between the pains, she finished sewing the shirt and put her needles and fibers away. Then, with Spock's help, she changed out the bedding and laid down a large, water‑resistant hide and then placed a more absorbent hide over that. They got together the things they would need and set them at ready.

Sapel was beside himself to learn that Mama's baby was about to come out, but, as the hours passed and no baby appeared, he grew bored and went out to play with Mooch in the snow. "Do not go any farther than right here in front of the cave," Spock ordered him, his expression making it clear that there would be severe repercussions in the case of disobedience. "Mama will be needing me shortly and I cannot leave her to come looking for you! Is that plainly understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sapel answered meekly. When his Papa used that particular tone, he knew better than to misbehave. He was never physically punished, but the psychological disapproval that his father could radiate was enough to deter any thought of insubordination. He found a stick and began a game of fetch with his pet.

Spock rejoined Christine, now lying on her side on the bed and breathing her way through a hard contraction. Kneeling beside her, he mopped her sweaty forehead with a soft chamois and said softly, "I would like to ease this pain for you, wife."

"Not yet. I'm okay." She puffed a few times then relaxed. "What you can do is make some supper for Sapel. And eat something yourself. It might be a long night."

"I do not require sustenance—" He broke off his protest as she pinned him with a hard glare. "—but I will eat something. Would you like some clean snow to suck on for moisture?"

"That would be nice," she answered, closing her eyes once more.

Rising, Spock caught up a small stone bowl and went outside. The sun was beginning to set and the temperature dropping with it. "Time to come in, Sapel," he announced as he found a patch of untouched snow on a ledge and raked the top, pristine layer of it into the bowl. It would melt quickly, but for a moment, it would soothe Christine's thirst.

"Just a few minutes more, Papa?" the boy pleaded.

"No, it's getting dark and cold. Time to come in." When Sapel didn't respond immediately, Spock turned to look at him, one eyebrow slowly lifting in question.

"Yes, sir," Sapel sighed and clucked to Mooch. The kit dropped the stick in her mouth and bounded to her master. The three re-entered the cave, its entrance emitting a soft golden glow in the growing darkness.

They didn't see the eyes that reflected the light.

* * *

The wolf had been observing the play of the boy and kit in the valley beneath him. He had watched for some time to ascertain that the big male was nowhere in sight. The wolf could smell the male but he wasn't nearby, and it only took a few seconds to burst from a stalk and snatch prey, dashing away before any reaction could be set in motion.

With careful actions, he began to move, silently and like a shadow, from his hiding place and into position. Instinct and experience kept him downwind from the pair playing with abandon. The wolf's mottled gray coat blended into the shadows on the snow and camouflaged him as he continued his stalk.

He was near now. Not so close as to be able to attack, but getting there, and still the pair were unaware of his presence. If his big paws made any sound at all, it was no more than the normal squeak and crunch of settling snow and breeze-stirred branches. The playing pair noticed nothing.

Abruptly the wolf froze into total immobility, for the alpha male had appeared from the cave and was making noises. The young one joined its sire, along with the brown animal, and then the three went inside.

The wolf might have felt frustration and anger at losing its prey like this, but these emotions were not a part of its make up. It settled down where it was to wait. The hunt wasn't over yet.

* * *

"Push, Christine! Push!"

Christine grasped her knees and strained with all her might, sweat pouring down her flushed face, teeth clenched. She was exhausted, having labored all night, but now the moment had come and she mustered all of her remaining strength. With a gasp, she eased off, falling back against the rolled hides at her back.

Spock was kneeling between her spread legs, his focus on the crown of their baby's head, just at the threshold of a new world. "Rest ... breathe ..." Then, seeing the next contraction beginning, he ordered once more, "Push! Hard! You are almost there!"

She grabbed her knees once more and resumed her battle to get her baby's head out. Just when she thought she would pass out from the effort, something gave and the obstacle was free.

"One more, Christine!" Spock said, bending over her, busy. "Just one more."

She heaved again and it was suddenly over. With an unconstrained grin spreading across his face, her husband lifted up and then placed on her stomach a wet, mucous-covered baby, dark-haired, elfin-featured and decidedly affronted. The baby's face bunched up and it squalled in protest at being so abruptly thrust into this cold, bright place.

"It's a girl!" Spock announced, sounding a bit stunned.

Tears of joy springing to her eyes, Christine tenderly wrapped her tiny newborn in a blanket of soft chamois, drying her, stimulating her, watching her turn pea green. "She's got green blood!" Christine laughed through her tears. "She takes after you, Spock." Mindful of the still attached cord, she gently cleaned the birth fluids from the baby's skin.

Sapel had been hovering in the background, his eyes like saucers at the culmination of his mother's pregnancy, and Christine now called to him. "Sapel, come see your new baby sister."

Timidly, he came forward and peered at the wriggling, squalling little creature cradled in Christine's arms. "What's wrong with her?!" he demanded. "She's all squashed!"

"There's nothing wrong with her," Christine answered, gazing in joy at the baby. "You were pretty squashed when you came out, too. No, she's just perfect. Beautiful!"

Still acting as obstetrician, Spock was watching the umbilical and said, "It's stopped pulsing."

"Okay, tie it off tightly up near the baby's navel, and then you can cut it," Christine instructed him.

"What's that thing?" Sapel asked, full of questions now that things were apparently over.

"That connects the baby to the mother when it's in her stomach," Christine explained quietly. "Once the baby comes out, she doesn't need it anymore. Lift up your shirt and look at your tummy." He did so. "See your belly button? That's where you were connected to me!"

Stunned, he stared at the indentation and then grinned at her. "I had one o' those, too?"

"You sure did!"

Spock had moved up beside her. "Hold her still," he said quietly and knotted short lengths of sinew onto the umbilical cord. The baby didn't like being uncovered and began crying once more, Christine cooing to her to quiet her. Then, Spock retrieved a sterilized obsidian knife blade and, with a quick motion, the cord was severed.

Christine quickly covered the little one and cuddled her close to her naked breasts. "It's okay, sweetheart. All over now."

"Why'd you do that?" Sapel wanted to know.

"She doesn't need it anymore. In a few days, the little stump will dry up and fall off and she'll have a belly button, too," Christine patiently explained.

Spock dropped the blade into a pot of water and washed the blood and fluids from his hands, drying them on a chamois towel. Then he came to kneel by his wife's side and get his first good look at his newborn daughter.

"She is beautiful, _t'hy'la_ ," he said softly to Christine, his eyes shining, then he bent to kiss her tenderly. "Are you still amenable to the name we discussed?"

"Yes."

"Then I will name her formally so that she will know who she is," he said. He leaned closer and lightly laid a fingertip on the baby's temple, opening his mind to her unformed psyche. In a soft, velvety voice, he intoned, "Child of this House, know that thou art a part of a Family, protected, cherished, guided by those around you and those Who Have Gone Before. Child, thou art T'Larin Christina, daughter of Spock, daughter of Christine, of the House of Surak, Clan da'Ni'ikhirch."

"T'Larin," whispered Christine, stroking the silky black hair of her new daughter.

"T'Larin," Sapel said as well, somehow sensing that he was part of the naming ceremony, too. He peered again at his sister and commented, "I don't 'spose she's too bad."

His mother laughed softly, then frowned a little in pain and then said, "Go back over to your bed, honey. It's going to be a little messy for a while, but Mama will be all right. It's just part of it." As her son moved away, she turned to her husband. "I think I'm about to deliver the placenta."

"Yes, as I suspected," Spock answered and took his place once more at her hips to guide her through this smaller ordeal. It didn't take long and once that was done, Spock pulled the soaked hide from beneath her and put down a clean one, rolling the afterbirth, tissues and blood up and set it aside, to be disposed of shortly. As he washed her and made sure she was clean and dry, Christine put her newborn to her breast and was pleased when the baby latched onto the nipple instinctively, beginning to suck.

Spock packed absorbent chamois and moss between Christine's legs to act as a sanitary napkin, then got to his feet, his back weary from the long hours now behind him. "We will bathe her once I return. But first I will go bury this. I shall be back in a very short while."

"What time is it?" Christine asked. She could see that it was light outside but it looked early.

"A bit after dawn. Your labor lasted approximately seventeen hours from onset to birth. You must be hungry. When I get back, I will make you some breakfast as well."

"I'd like that," she smiled tiredly. "Thank you, Spock. For everything you did last night and for her." Her blue eyes, though fatigued, were shining with love.

He returned the affectionate gaze. "I did nothing, my _t'hy'la_. Thank you for this beautiful child." For a few seconds, their eyes held to each other and a smile of pure adoration lit his face. "I am well pleased, my beloved wife."

Christine smiled happily and said, "Go on. Get your chore done."

"I won't be long," he answered and bent down to retrieve the rolled hide of detritus and blood. Going out through the door, he pushed the hide covered door guard closed behind him, blocking out the cold wind coming off the snow.

As Spock walked away downstream to a place he could dig deep enough to completely bury the bundle, a low gray form watched him from the shadows. The wolf's yellow eyes were hard and alert, his nose twitching attentively and eagerly at the strong smell of blood in the air.

From the cavern, the soft sound of a baby could be heard. He knew instinctively what it was and he also knew instinctively that newborn offspring were always an easy meal. The perfect opportunity had come. The alpha male was gone, birth was written everywhere on the air, and his stomach told him that he had waited long enough.

Rising like a gray mist from his spot in the shadows, the wolf began to trot toward the cave entrance.

* * *

The first indication Christine had of danger was as Mooch rushed toward the door guard, all the hair along her back standing erect, ears flat and sharp little teeth bared in a mouth that was emitting a sound like she'd never made before.

"What—" was the only word Christine got out before a nightmare beyond imagining was in their midst. It could have lasted minutes ... or less than a second. Christine and Sapel screamed at the same instant, reflexively, out of pure terror, and then Mooch screeched a battle cry and launched herself at the four-legged demon standing atop the burst door guard. The invader whirled to meet its attacker, throwing it off-guard for just a few seconds.

It gave Christine just enough time to scramble back, one hand flailing for a weapon, the other clutching her shrieking baby to her breast. Sapel had thrown himself against the wall behind his mother, his high-pitched screams taking on a primal, hysterical note.

The wolf caught Mooch by one leg and shook her savagely, releasing her just as suddenly when Christine managed to snag a stone bowl and throw it with as much force as she could. The kit scrambled away, squealing in pain.

With a vicious growl, the wolf whirled back to his main prey and leaped toward the woman. She tried to get out of its way, keep her body between the predator and the child, but was bowled over by the weight of the big animal. One of its claws dug into her shoulder and she screamed in pain, still trying to protect the squalling baby and herself as well.

Sapel seemed to snap out of his hysteria and seized his father's hunting spear that was propped against the wall, using the too-large weapon to beat at the wolf straddling his mother and fighting to get at the newborn. The wolf, thoroughly enraged now, snapped the shaft between his massive teeth and ripped it from the boy's hands, crunching the wood and flinging it away.

It seemed about to leap upon Sapel and Christine screamed, "Noooo!!!" and grabbed a handful of fur at its throat, the closest part to hand, and twisted furiously. The wolf whipped back to her and went for her face. She screamed again and ducked, pulling out a handful of fur in the process.

Then in a blinding fast movement, the wolf changed the course of his attack and darted his lethal muzzle down toward her body. Before she could react at all, the wolf had seized the howling baby and was out the door, Christine shrieking with blood curdling horror as it did so.

* * *

Spock hadn't been far downstream when all hell erupted from the direction of the cave. Immediately, he dropped his bundle and dashed back the way he'd come, unable to imagine what could have happened.

He arrived just in time to see the wolf race from the cavern entrance, something in its mouth, and Mooch hard on its heels, barking frantically, the cacophony of screeching voices keeping him from understanding what he'd just seen. Then, an instant later, realization slammed him full force and he uttered a guttural cry and pelted as hard as he could after the fleeing animals, yanking his knife from its sheath as he did so.

The wolf had leaped across the creek and up the slope to the brush pile. There Mooch had caught it again, sinking her teeth into its rear leg with every ounce of savage fury in her small body. The wolf dropped the baby in the snow and turned to rid itself of this tormentor, trying to get at the smaller animal, turning and snapping in rage. It took only seconds before the large predator had seized Mooch and ripped her away, again shaking her like a hare. She gave one shriek and went silent.

And that's when something tackled the wolf such as it had never encountered.

Spock's flying weight bore the wolf to the ground and the two rolled over and over in the snow, the wolf trying to orient himself and get at this new attacker, the enraged Vulcan gripping its throat with one powerful hand, the other wielding the flashing steel knife with a vengeance. The wolf set all of its talons into action against the man, trying to get at him with its shearing fangs, fighting for its life now.

But Spock was heedless of anything except sinking the long Romulan blade again and again into the twisting, scrambling body underneath him. The sight that he'd beheld of the wolf with his baby daughter in its mouth had driven him beyond any control or thought. Every ounce of submerged Vulcan savagery, of remorseless barbarism, of killing instinct roared up in him like an erupting volcano. He roared, too, as he drove in the knife over and over, not caring that he was spattered with gore, that his hair had come loose from its thong and was matted and dripping with blood, that the wolf was no longer moving underneath him.

All that mattered was that he wreak havoc on this thing that had killed his baby before she ever had a chance at life. Still screaming hoarsely, he let the wolf's carcass drop and gripped the knife two-handed, bringing it down with even more force, crushing the animal's chest, pulverizing it, chopping, hacking, stabbing until finally his arms trembled and refused to rise again.

Then he stared wild-eyed around until he spotted T'Larin's small body in the snow and crawled on hands and knees to her, still gripping the gory knife in one hand. He knelt in the blood‑drenched snow and stared down at her for a long moment, then his face contorted and he began to cry, great wrenching sobs that threatened to tear him apart, building in crescendo until he was screaming in pain and denial at the heavens.

Almost without thinking, he ripped his shirt open, baring his chest and stomach, and brought the dripping knife up two-handed one last time, high over his head, insuring that it would bury itself deep on the downward plunge.

" _Spock, kroykah!!!!!_ " Christine's voice screamed.

It jolted him back into awareness. She had hobbled to the edge of the creek, leaning heavily on her walking staff, a fur wrapped around her still naked body, blood streaming from between her legs.

Shaking uncontrollably, the Vulcan let his arms slowly drop back down, but did not relinquish his knife. His face was white underneath the gore splattered there and tears had washed streaks through the red coating. Almost unnoticed, they continued to stream down his cheeks, dropping in crimson puddles into the snow in which he knelt.

Then, staring ahead as if dazed, he reached up and took a handful of his long, blood-matted black hair and sliced it off with the knife.

Horrified, Christine shouted at him, her voice hoarse with tears. "Spock! What are you doing?!"

He didn't respond, only seized another handful of hair and cut it away as well. Mechanically, he went on, until the ground around him was covered with a blanket of foot-long ebony strands, contrasting with the white snow and crimson blood on which it lay. Only when he had cut all of his hair did Spock stop and lay down the battle-stained steel blade.

Then, slowly, he gathered his child to his chest and bent his head over her, rocking back and forth and beginning to wail softly.

* * *

For days, Spock had sat at the entrance of the cavern, staring out into space, his knees drawn up, his forearms folded across them. His vision was trapped by something the others couldn't see, his eyes dull and vacant, green-rimmed and hollow. He seldom spoke or moved and, when he did, it was only to perform actions mechanically, with little interest. If he ate, it was the apathetic chewing of a little bread, washed down with water ... but he seldom ate. It was not that he was purposefully fasting. He had simply lost any interest in food.

Christine suspected that he had lost his will to live and was simply waiting passively to die. She could well understand how he was feeling. The past few days had been a living nightmare, one in which she wanted to lock herself away and scream until she had no voice, then keep on screaming until her throat ruptured. Never had she known such hurt or fright or sorrow. She thought she had experienced the maximum when she miscarried following the buffalo attack two years before, but it was nothing to this. Left on her own, she would surely have gone completely insane with grief.

But she didn't have that luxury. Grief-stricken or not, recovering from childbed or not, wounded or not, the burden fell on her to hold her family together. Had it just been Spock, she might have let him go, lost in her own madness, but she had Sapel to think about and his needs outweighed her own. And so, like uncountable women before her, she set her own heartache aside and forcibly seized the ragged edges of her life, beginning to pull it back together again.

On that awful day, she had stood barefoot in the snow, bloody discharge streaming down her legs, so weak that she could barely stay upright even while clutching the walking staff, and called Spock back to the world. There was no telling how long he would have stayed on his knees, rocking T'Larin's still little body if she hadn't garnered his attention.

"Spock! Spock! I need your help! Please, please come down!"

Gradually, he had turned to look at her, his face a garish mask of red and green blood and ghastly pallor, his eyes haunted, his dark hair sticking out in uneven wisps and spikes from the way he had sliced it away with his knife. At the moment, he was barely recognizable as the man with whom she had lived for so long.

After a time, it seemed to dawn on him that he had to get up, to go down and help his wife. Blinking the blood from his eyes, he somehow got to his feet and trudged down the slope, cradling the baby's body against his bare chest. When he reached Christine, he put an arm around her waist for support and braced her as they made their way to the cave entrance where Sapel was standing, white-faced and sniffling, his eyes huge with horror.

As Spock brought his wife back to her bed and steadied her as she lay down, Sapel clutched at his pants leg and pleaded, "Where's Mooch, Papa? Is she hurt? Where is she?!"

Spock very nearly shoved him away, so numb and shattered were his thoughts, but Christine caught at her husband's hand. "Give me T'Larin, Spock. Go look for Mooch. Bring her back no matter what condition she's in. It will only traumatize him more if she's just left out there."

Dumbly, Spock nodded and retraced his steps to the scene of the battle. It took him a few minutes of searching but he found the little kit on her side underneath the brush pile, badly wounded and panting frantically, but still alive. He crouched down and slipped his hands underneath the little animal, lifting her as gently as he could, and bore her back to the cave.

Sapel was anxious to see his pet as Spock laid her down on a fur rug. With an effort, the man mustered coherent speech. "I can't tend to her, Sapel," he told his son hoarsely, his voice barely working. "I have to take care of Mama. I won't have time for Mooch."

The boy's face scrunched up in a vain effort not to cry, but nevertheless he squatted down beside the kit and softly stroked her bloodied head as his tears fell. Spock turned away from him, having no mental or emotional room at the moment for concern over an animal.

He managed to get the door guard pushed into place to block the winter cold then went to the water bag and poured water into a bowl. Lifting a double handful to his face, he scrubbed mindlessly to rinse away the blood. Most of it came away into the water, but it would take a thorough wash to get it all. Spock didn't care as long as the half-congealed gore didn't drip into his eyes.

The half-hearted cleansing only made a sort of mask, a crude caricature of his normal features. Numbly, he tossed the bloody water out and refilled the bowl, then knelt beside his wife. The water was cold and she jumped when he began to wash her with it. She stood it as long as she could then, her teeth chattering, begged, "Spock, please. You need to heat it up some. It's too cold!" She was shivering now, both from the temperature and shock. "Please, Spock ... you've got to get hold of yourself. I need you to be strong! I need your help now!"

She knew that he was suffering from shock as well, but she couldn't let him lose his tenuous grip on reality. He stared at her for a long moment, uncomprehending, and then closed his eyes and seemed to shake himself hard. With a deep breath and a frown, he roused himself.

"Yes ... yes, of course," he answered, still sounding dazed. "What was I thinking?"

He set his face into a determined expression and turned to heat water by the fire. As it was warming, he checked Christine over for other wounds, found the gash in her shoulder, and a number of scratches and bruises. Most of the blood, though, was from the recent birth, her makeshift sanitary pad lost during the struggle.

Once done with her, Spock checked Sapel over but the boy had suffered only a few scratches. His main injury was trauma, from the unequaled horror of seeing the wolf burst in and attack his mother, snatch up and escape with his baby sister screaming in its jaws, and then watching the savage battle between his father and the predator, punctuated by the bone-chilling wails that Spock had uttered afterwards. And now he could only sit helplessly as Mooch lay bloody and barely conscious, very probably dying, too.

Spock could not soothe him at the moment. He had to tend to Christine, to get the bleeding stanched, to wrap her up warm and ward off shock. Something of this magnitude could very well kill her, coming as it did only minutes after she'd given birth.

And the baby ... he would have to prepare the baby for... for... Pain sliced through him as if he'd succeeded in plunging his knife into his gut. He couldn't even think about it at the moment. It was too fresh, too horrible. If he started thinking about it, he would lose control again, as he had on the hillside. Never in his life had he felt such total fury, such complete abandonment of all that he was, all that made him Vulcan. Even now, the howling demons in his soul were barely contained, ready to burst free once more at the slightest provocation.

With difficulty, he put the pain and raging emotions aside, forcing them behind the barriers he had erected for his own sanity, then he retrieved the steaming water from the fire.

All while he bathed her legs and thighs and genital area, Christine held her tiny daughter close, weeping softly, willing the little body to be warm again, to move again, to wriggle against her as she had done for so short a time. When it came time to bathe away the blood and clean the cuts on Christine's upper body, Spock gently took the child and wrapped her in a soft blanket, laying her at her mother's side. Christine put a hand over her eyes and bit her lip, shaking with the sobs that she was trying very hard to control. She couldn't let go right now. She just couldn't...

Once he had her cleaned, Spock helped his wife dress in a long loose tunic and leggings, fitting her moccasins on her feet. He helped her secure her loincloth in place, allowing her to adjust it for her own comfort on her now soft, flaccid abdomen, then he covered her with the bedding furs. She had stopped shivering by now and he knew that he must keep her warm and quiet.

With Christine settled into her bed, Spock sat back on his heels, trying to think what to do next. Focusing on a task, he could do what needed to be done, but when that job was finished, his mind seemed to go blank once more. He sat like that now, unable to think of what he should do next. His mind was like a gray fog, his thoughts submerged in mist that surrounded and muffled him. More and more of him was withdrawing into numbed shock.

Sapel saw his father sitting motionless and went to him, leaning on his shoulder. "Papa? Can you look at Mooch? I don't know what to do."

Spock blinked and roused himself again. "Yes, of course." He could do that next. Without getting up, he crawled over to where the kit lay on her rug. She was still panting heavily, her eyes closed. She had several deep gashes on her flanks and a bite mark on her head, but, when he lifted her eyelids, her eyes were clear and, in her mouth, the mucous membrane pink and moist. Those were good signs.

There was still warm water left in the bowl by the fire and Spock said hoarsely, "Bring me some water and a towel." His son hurried to obey then squatted anxiously as Spock bent over the animal. As gently as he could, he cleaned the blood away from the gashes and felt of her legs to see if anything was broken. Mooch yelped as he tested her hind leg and raised up enough to reach the wound with her muzzle. Her tongue flicked out and she bathed the gash herself.

Spock once more sat back. "I think she's going to be okay, Sapel. Her rear leg seems to be cracked but not broken clean through. We'll have to keep the wound on her head clean, but if she can lick the other cuts, she'll take care of them herself. They will heal eventually. Just keep her quiet and have water where she can get at it. I doubt she'll feel like eating anything but later this evening we will offer her a bit of broth."

The boy sniffled, wiping a runny nose with the back of his hand. Spock seemed to notice his condition for the first time and said, "Meanwhile, I want to clean you up as well. You will feel better once I have done so." His voice was dull, forced from a throat still chafed and sore.

"After me, do yourself, Papa," Sapel answered. "You look scary."

Spock didn't answer, but simply went through the motions of washing his son and putting clean clothing on him. All during the time he was doing so, Spock's features continued to grow more and more expressionless, as he pulled all of his emotions back into himself, behind the high, impenetrable wall of Vulcan stoicism that he had been taught all of his life. It was an instinctive retreat, one that he was not even aware that he was doing, one that was mixed with shock and a trauma that he had been ill-prepared to face.

And he was readying himself, too, for a ritual that he had not expected to have to practice — the burial of a slaughtered child.

* * *

With little expression, Spock had gone out into the early afternoon sunlight, so deceptively normal and cheerful, in order to dig his daughter's grave. He followed the creek for a bit until he came upon a large, willow-like tree that leaned over the water, its long, thin limbs now bare of leaves. In the spring and summer, it was lush with slim, yellow-green foliage, a peaceful place to rest and meditate. He came here often for that purpose, for it was here that he had buried the stillborn son that Christine has miscarried two years earlier.

The ground was not frozen but still the grave took him the rest of the day, working with antler pick and shoulder-blade shovel. Finally, though, he had it deep enough and climbed to his feet to return home to prepare himself.

Together, he and Christine washed their daughter's little body, then wrapped her in the velvety soft blankets that Christine had worked so hard in preparing during the summer. That done, Christine could hold in her grief no longer and rolled on her bed to face the far wall, deep, tearing sobs shaking her body.

But Spock did not go to comfort her. He had withdrawn too far into himself, was too lost in his own mourning. Sapel was the one who went to his mother, sitting beside her and putting his small arms around her shoulders, his own tears rolling down his face. Watching Spock place a bowl of water beside the fire to heat, the boy was puzzled and a little frightened. He didn't know why his father was behaving so indifferently and strangely.

He had never before seen the Ritual for the Lost. And he didn't understand now that he was witnessing this ancient Vulcan custom for the first time. Spock didn't explain. He was entering a state of mind that would last through the night and until the burial at dawn, one that was rooted so deeply into his psyche that even he was unaware that he knew it. But now, at the proper time, it welled up in him like an aquifer in the desert, ready to serve the purpose of healing a wounded Vulcan soul.

Stripping himself naked, Spock knelt by the fire and began to wash himself with a thoroughness that said this was a ritual cleansing. He paid no heed to the other two people nearby. It was doubtful that he even realized any longer that they were there. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips moving as he softly began the Song for the Dead. To Christine and Sapel, the sound was barely audible, merely a monotone chant in a language neither understood. In fact, it was Old Vulcan, the language of Spock's forefathers, the ancient ritual tongue used now only in ceremonies like this.

In his mind, Spock was surrounded by his Ancestors, the Family Who Has Gone Before, and they were singing with him, all to welcome into their midst their newest member, T'Larin t'cha'Spock. Her _katra_ came back into their midst as a tall young woman, her long inky hair cascading down her back like the fall of midnight, her sky blue eyes serene and filled with compassion for the father who would never know her. She had her mother's features, he saw, set in a Vulcan countenance of sublime radiance.

The Ancestors recited her lineage from the time of Surak, who now stood beside her, his many-times-great-granddaughter. They sang of her brief life, her potential, her own children-not-to-be. They grieved with Spock for his loss. Their mourning was long and full of lament, but finally it came time for Spock to release his child into their care. It was time for him to cleanse himself fully of the emotion of grief and start afresh.

When his mental processes reached this point, Spock paused and opened his eyes. Silent, he located the little mound of obsidian flakes from which he had been fashioning arrow heads. Choosing a particularly large one, its edge razor sharp, he dipped it into the bowl of simmering water and then brought it up to his face, closing his eyes once more as he did so.

He stroked the blade down his cheek, seeing its contours in his mind's eye, removing the two day growth of stubble growing there. Again he dipped the obsidian blade into the water and again brought it to slide down his face, its keen edge leaving his skin shaven clean.

Across the cave, Christine and Sapel were watching him in horrified fascination. "What's Papa doing?" the boy whispered, afraid to raise his voice.

Christine shook her head. "He's shaving. I don't know what's going on."

Oblivious to his watchers, Spock continued until his face and throat were clean and smooth. But he didn't stop there. Continuing to ply his makeshift razor, he set to work on his hairline, slowly clearing away the chopped and matted wisps and spikes that he'd created in his mad grief. Christine wanted to stop him but was too frightened by his bizarre behavior. Instead, she lay and held her son, watching her husband long after Sapel had fallen asleep, exhausted, in her arms.

It was into the wee hours of the morning when Spock finally finished shaving all the hair from his head. Christine half-expected that he would next turn the razor on his torso, that whatever he was doing demanded he shave himself completely, but instead he laid the dulled obsidian flake gently by the fire, then hung his head wearily.

He was covered with hair he had shaved off his scalp, but he made no move to brush or wash it away. Instead, he merely brought his hands up and clasped them before him, steepling his index fingers as she had so often seen him do, and appeared to sink into deep meditation. He was a grotesque sight ... naked as he knelt before the dying fire, his head now completely bald, but his body coated with the dark hair he had cast off. Christine would have laughed if she hadn't been afraid that Spock had gone utterly mad. He didn't move for the rest of the night, even to replenish the fire, and seemed unaware of the growing cold in the cave.

Christine could feel it, though, and she pulled more furs over herself and Sapel. Across the small area of the cave, she could hear Mooch breathing rhythmically, sounding like she was asleep. It was the only disturbance to the total silence in the cave, other than the soft crackle and hiss of the fire.

Weariness and weakness from the day's traumatic events took their toll on Christine and she laid her head back on the rolled furs that served as pillows. She was asleep before she even realized that she had closed her eyes.

* * *

"Christine, wake up."

Groggily, she opened her eyes. Spock was bending over her, fully dressed now and apparently in his right mind, although his newly-shorn head shocked her for a second before she remembered the previous night. It was still dark outside, but he had built the fire back up and the night's cold was beginning to recede from the cave.

"What is it, Spock?" she asked muzzily.

"It is dawn. Time to go."

"Go? Go where?" Her mind wasn't awake yet and she wiped a hand over her eyes to clear them.

"To bury T'Larin," he answered matter-of-factly.

That startled her fully awake. "Now?"

"Yes."

"But why? I mean, why this early?"

"It is tradition," he responded as if that answered all her questions. "I do not expect you to walk that far. I will carry you."

"Oh, Spock, can't we wait a bit longer?" She glanced longingly at the small bundle of soft leather at rest beside her bed. "I can't bear it so soon..."

"No. The time is appropriate." He reached over and shook his sleeping son. "Sapel. Wake up." The boy groaned and burrowed deeper into the furs. Spock shook him again. "I require your attention, Sapel. Get up now."

Sleepily, the little boy sat up, his dark hair disarrayed, blinking fuzzily. "Wha..."

"Are you dressed already? Very good. Then let us go."

"I gotta go pee-pee," Sapel protested, cross at being woken up.

"Then go and do not dawdle," his father instructed flatly. The boy got up and trudged off in the direction of the latrine. "And you, my wife. Have you needs this morning that must be attended?"

Christine stared at him with a worried, uncomprehending expression. "As a matter of fact, yes, as well as change my padding, but please tell me why it's so important that we do this now? At dawn?"

"Because it is in accordance with Vulcan tradition. Her _katra_ has become one with the Ancestors and the dawn will signal the resumption of our lives," he answered with little emotion.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes as she stared at him. "One night of mourning? That's it? You spend one night mourning and then you just go on as if nothing has happened? I'm sorry, Spock, that's impossible!"

"I understand that Humans must spend much more time in their mourning process," he replied. "I did spend a number of years living and working with Humans, after all. However, for a Vulcan, it is not logical to exude large amounts of time in a fruitless pursuit," he replied. He gazed back at her calmly, no more moved than if he had been discussing the weather.

Christine's mouth dropped open, even as her tears began to run down her cheeks. "Spock, our baby died! How can you feel so little?!"

"Christine, I have done my own sort of grieving. But grieving will not bring her back. It is time now that she be buried so that we may move ahead."

Spock peered at her solemnly but showed very little emotion, and it suddenly dawned on the weeping woman that he was acting the way he had when she'd first known him, utterly impassive, cold, and very, very Vulcan. There was no life in his eyes, as if the real man were concealed behind massive shields and what she was seeing now was only the shell that remained.

He had withdrawn into himself, deep behind the protection of Vulcan logic and tightly controlled emotions. _Arie'mnu_ , the Vulcans called it. "Mastery of passion and emotion." It was _kahr-y-tan_ , the way of the Vulcan.

Christine understood now. Spock's complete loss of emotional control when he had battled the wolf then found his newborn child dead had caused a whiplash effect to his Vulcan sensibilities. He was now controlling too tightly, shutting himself off to everything around him. She could do nothing but allow him to work through this until he reached an equilibrium in his emotional state.

Meanwhile, they had a child to lay to rest. Wiping her tears from her swollen eyes, she said, "Help me up, Spock. It's almost dawn."

* * *

Christine carried her dead child in her arms, even as Spock carried her, the weight of his burden negligible to his enormous strength. Sapel trailed along behind, bewildered, unhappy and very frightened. He kept glancing behind him the whole way, afraid that some wild beast would leap out and carry him away, too, and he made very sure to stay close to his parents.

At the grave site, Christine broke down, clutching her baby to her breast for a few moments, before finally surrendering the tiny body to Spock, who carefully lowered it into the grave, arranged it attentively, and then got up onto his knees and said a benediction over the infant in Vulcan. Christine recited the Lord's Prayer and crossed herself then tossed a sprig of evergreen into the grave as her farewell. She would have liked it to be flowers, but there were none this time of the year, and this was the best she could do. Then she gathered Sapel to her and held him hard, her tears coming again as Spock began to fill in the grave with his elk shoulder blade shovel.

Once that was done, Spock tamped down the soil, then began to lay a cairn of rocks over the little mound. It didn't take long. During the ceremony, the sun had broken over the eastern horizon in an array of golds and mauves and purples. Now, as the family stood beside the baby's grave, Spock looked up, straight into the sun, and whispered, " _Da'ni'ikhirch i'tu, t'cha'i. Kh'teri tu a'lahk_." Then, he abruptly shut his eyes and looked away for a long moment.

Christine glanced at him sharply, startled by the raw emotion in his voice, but when he raised his head and looked back at her, the expressionless mask was back in place.

"You should not be out in the cold so long," he said impassively. "It is time we returned to the cave."

"I'll walk just a little bit," she answered. She looped her arm through his for support and kept her other hand on Sapel's shoulder, for his peace of mind more than hers. She could tell how afraid he was, constantly glancing around him to check his surroundings, even as he pressed close to her.

She didn't make it very far before her weakness caught up with her, and Spock effortlessly scooped her up in his arms, carrying her the rest of the way back. Putting her arms around his neck, she laid her head on his shoulder, deliberately expressing her feelings of sadness and need for him through their mind bond. He didn't react at all. She wondered if he'd closed that as well.

Back at the cave, Spock deposited her on her bed with orders to rest, then he turned to the mundane task of making breakfast. Sapel went to check on Mooch, who was obviously feeling better today and glad to have her friend back. She wriggled her long tail in happiness and even managed to get up and limp to the water bowl. Then she looked at the door and whined her "out" signal.

"She wants to go out, Sapel," Spock commented as he stirred boiling porridge. "Take her outside so that she can relieve herself."

There was dead silence and Spock looked up at his son. Sapel's face had gone white and he was staring at his father with wide eyes. Mooch whined more piteously. "Take her out," Spock said again, but this time Sapel only shook his head and tears came to his eyes. Spock sat back on his heels. "What is wrong?"

"I don't wanna go out there by myself, Papa," he answered in a small voice. "I'm afraid."

"The wolf is dead, Sapel. There is nothing to be afraid of."

"There might be others."

Spock was silent for a long moment, staring fixedly at the trembling boy, then rose to his feet without further comment. He walked over and removed the door guard and went back to the hearth fire, leaving the cave entrance open. Mooch hobbled out and disappeared, but Sapel stood with terrified eyes, rooted to the spot, as if expecting a slavering monster to hurtle in at any second.

Christine raised herself on her elbows and asked, "Is that necessary, Spock? Can't you see he's frightened?"

"He must learn to deal with his fright," the Vulcan responded, taking the porridge off the fire and setting it aside to cool. "He cannot function in this state of mind."

"He's only a little boy!"

"He is nearly four years old, by this planet's calendar. He would be closer to five if he were on Earth or Vulcan." Spock ladled out the cereal into three bowls. "On Vulcan, he would already be well into preparing for _kahs'wan_ and would be learning how to survive in the wilderness on his own."

Christine gritted her teeth together and counted to ten. "This is not Vulcan, Spock. And he has just undergone a tremendously devastating shock. He needs time to adjust. I will not have my son subjected to—"

"He is my son, as well," Spock interrupted her and snapped his gaze up to fasten directly onto her eyes. There was life in the dark brown depths now, but it was the spark of disapproval and warning. And something else. It was the authoritative command of a Vulcan husband over his wife.

Christine's eyes narrowed in response, and for a very long moment the two of them were locked in a silent duel of wills. He never blinked or wavered his glare and finally she backed down, dropping her eyes from his. She didn't have the strength to fight him right now, but she would be damned if she would let this go.

Spock turned back to breakfast and tested the temperature of his cereal. It had cooled sufficiently and, as calmly as if nothing had happened, he said, "Sapel, take this to your mother and be careful. It is still hot."

The boy looked from one parent to the other, confused by the tension of the last few moments, then obeyed, carefully carrying the bowl of porridge to Christine's bed. Mooch limped back in the doorway, obviously tired out from this small excursion, and retreated to her furs, licking her wounds thoroughly, and then slumping over onto her side to fall asleep again.

Spock said quietly, "You may replace the door guard now, _cha'i._ Then come and get your breakfast. Would you like honey or berries with it this morning?"

* * *

The days fell into a routine. Spock arose before dawn to stoke up the fire and begin breakfast, help Christine with whatever personal needs she had, and then serve her and Sapel their morning meal. He sometimes ate and sometimes not, but after cleaning the bowls and setting them aside to dry, Spock would retire to his place by the door and quietly slip into a melancholy fugue, his eyes focused on something distant, his face blank, for all intents and purposes alone with himself.

His hair had begun to grow back and his head was now covered with a short dark cap that was still bristly and rather disarrayed in appearance. He had not shaved since the night of mourning and his beard was coming in, too, at present giving him a fairly scruffy look. He usually let his beard grow during the winter months, keeping his face warmer, so it didn't surprise Christine too much and most of the time she liked his rougher look.

But during the bleak days following T'Larin's burial, she suspected his appearance had more to do with apathy than practicality. He would respond if spoken to, but otherwise, he sat without moving, lost within his thoughts. There were times when she approached him and found him with eyes closed, dozing as he sat there, as if he were simply too tired to even stay awake. Or too sunken in lethargy.

The first couple of times, she ignored it, then finally, upon awakening him once more, said, "Spock, if you're sleepy, why don't you go lie down?"

"I am not sleepy," he answered dully.

"You were asleep," she pointed out.

"No. I was merely thinking." He turned his head back to resume his blank stare out the doorway through the ventilation hole. Outside, it was sunny and crisp, snow still on the ground, but pleasant.

Christine stood with her hands on her hips, appraising him. "You were so deep in thought you were nearly snoring, then."

Kneeling at his side, she tried for a more intimate approach. "Honey, I know you're depressed over T'Larin's death, but as you said yourself, this won't bring her back."

He turned his head slightly to regard her and one eyebrow lifted. "I am _not_ depressed, Christine. That is not an emotion I am familiar with."

"Stop lying to me and yourself," she answered, frowning. "I'm a medical professional. I know depression when I see it."

"Vulcans do not experience depression," he insisted stubbornly.

"Maybe the Vulcan half of you isn't depressed, but the Human half is. Why don't you get out and take a walk? The fresh air will do you good."

He gazed at her listlessly, then got to his feet. She rose with a wince. She was recovering fast from the childbirth, but still had some aches and pains that hadn't gone away. Occasionally, she thought longingly about the hot pool near their home on the Southern Sea and wished — not for the first time — that they had wintered there. Not only would their baby be alive, but it had comforts that this cave did not. The "hot tub" was one of them and she wished she could soak her weary bones in it now.

Without speaking further to her, Spock pulled on his fur overtunic and went outside, closing the door guard behind him. He had continued to challenge Sapel's fear, to Christine's dismay and anger. It only made the boy more afraid and he had begun having nightmares as he slept. Most of the time, he ended up snuggled against his mother, a place he only felt marginally safer since he had witnessed the wolf snatch his sister from Christine's arms, despite her attempts to protect the baby.

Christine shook her head and turned back to the stew she was preparing for their evening meal. They all needed time, she knew, to recover from this. But it looked to be a very long winter.

* * *

Spock wandered aimlessly around the environs of the valley, not really interested in anything he found. The snow was still on the ground and the temperature hovered at freezing, but the mild sunshine was having an effect. Water dripped from tree limbs and overhangs as the sun melted the snow that it could reach, forming long icicles in the process. With sundown, it would all freeze once more, but for now, the valley sparkled with a thousand diamond surfaces.

His breath forming a plume of fog as he exhaled, the Vulcan went down to stand beside the frozen pond, only its very center still open. The ice wasn't thick and it, too, waxed and waned with the interchange of day and night. Underneath the surface, he could make out the dim shapes of fish moving about, still active despite the frosty cap that covered their home.

He stood thus for about half an hour, then grew bored with that. Turning away, he moved down the creek side to the ford and picked his way across the stones to the other side. Unbidden, his feet took him up to the brush pile, where the battle had taken place, and again he stood silently viewing the aftermath.

The wind had long since blown the strands of his hair away, except for the long filaments that had caught in the brush pile's many twigs and snags. They waved now like black spider-silk in the soft breeze, the light winking on the still glossy surfaces. Come spring, many would be woven into birds' nests or taken down burrows and eventually all would be gone.

Of the wolf, there was little left except odd bits of hair and bone. In winter, nothing was wasted and the area's scavengers, large and small, had feasted and made good use of the corpse. The blood had soaked into the snow and been lapped by predators. It too was now expunged from the scene.

But Spock could still see it all. His mind played the incident over and over, like an endless loop of film. Dispassionately, he analyzed it from every angle, wondering what he could have done to steer the outcome to a better result. Nothing he did improved it. In every case, he ended with a dead child in his arms and his face lifted in mad grief to the sky.

The play of light from a drifting cloud caused a glint of metal to catch his eye. He went and stooped over it, recovering his steel Romulan hunting knife from the snow where he had dropped it that dreadful day. The blade and hilt were still encrusted with frozen gore, mostly red but with a dark streak of green to accent it. He held it by tip and point, turning it, allowing the sunlight to glance from its surface.

Then, rising to his feet, he walked back down to the creek and knelt beside the water. The stream was iced over but he used the hilt of the knife to smash a hole. Then, heedless of the icy temperature and numbing cold, he washed the knife free of blood, cleaning it meticulously, making sure that every bit of contamination was gone from its surface. Finally, satisfied, he lifted it dripping and inspected it once more, ignoring the dark green hue that his hands on acquired as blood rushed through them in an attempt to warm them. He no longer cared. He wasn't even sure why he'd taken such pains over the knife. But it felt good to have it back by his side.

The sun was beginning to sink westwardly and the shadows of evening were falling into the valley, dropping the temperatures. Spock looked up and saw Christine standing just outside the cave door, watching him curiously. He didn't know how long she'd been there but she hadn't hailed him.

Time to return to the cave, he sighed. To another long, sleepless night and the growing aggravations to his soul. To emotions and memories he wanted to put behind him, but could not because he was reminded of them daily. To his wife weeping at night in sorrow for her lost child. To his son thrashing on his bed and unable to bear the dreams that smothered him. Even to Mooch, turning constantly, licking, lapping water, making all the little sounds an animal makes.

Most of all to himself, for when the night came, his own nightmares began. No matter how hard he tried to suppress them and deal with them logically, he could not escape the screams of his family, the snarls of the wolf, the blood, the flashing teeth and flashing knife, the horror and terror of that moment.

And ultimately to the memory of wildness, of total anarchy. The viciousness of his past had taken him utterly, made him primal, half-animal himself, drenched in bloodlust and the need to kill. And this killing had been for revenge, for savage retribution. He could still feel the exhilaration and satisfaction that had surged through him as he had slammed the long, steel blade over and over again into the wolf's body, could still feel his body quiver with the impact as it bit through bone and tissue, could still feel the hot blood spurt and run from his hand and face. And there was the penultimate moment when he could feel the animal die, its primitive mind understanding at last that Spock was the paramount predator here, the supreme killer, the god of life and death.

The Vulcan squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head, as if such a move could hurl the memories from his mind, cleanse them from his soul. It was more than he could fathom now. Every shred of civilization had left him and he had been seized by the Ancestor he least wanted to acknowledge resided within him ... the vicious, blood-thirsty barbarian of his distant past, who wore his victims' scalps as trophies on his belt, who murdered without thought or scruple, who took what he wanted when he wanted it, be it gold or girl or beast.

That savage lurked in him yet, unwilling to return to the deep obscurity from whence he had come. Spock drew his walls of control hard around him like a cloak, shaking from more than the cold of falling night. When he finally reached the point where he could feel nothing of the emotions raging within him, he drew a deep breath and let it out in a long, foggy breath. His soul was blessedly numb once again, inured to the howling demons tearing at his mind.

His wife was still waiting for him to come in and at last he made himself move. Another night was falling and he slowly walked towards the only warmth.

* * *

Spock was lying with his back to her when Christine pulled the furs up over them. It had been over a month since the terrible events of that winter day and Christine had gradually recovered physically. She had been in considerable pain for several days as her breasts swelled unbearably, engorged with milk and no baby to suckle them. She expressed as much milk from them as she could, but nevertheless found her breasts had become fevered, maddeningly tender and feeling as if they would burst.

They didn't, of course, and finally she had ceased lactating and the swelling had gone away. Her breasts had returned slowly to normal size. Her womb had shrunk back to normal as well, although stretch marks stayed on her abdomen as a reminder of her lost pregnancy. Her bloody discharge ceased as well and by the time mid-winter had arrived with a howling blizzard, her body had healed and was back to its normal state.

Her emotions were something else, however. During the entire time of her recovery and grieving, Spock had not once offered her comfort. Oh, he would hold her if she asked him to, but it was a meaningless gesture. On an abstract level, she understood that he could not deal with his own emotions, let alone other's. But that didn't help when the sorrow came on her in the quiet of the night and she desperately needed to sink into the arms of the man she had grown to love over the past years. She needed to feel cared for and cherished and the old Spock would have done this. But now the tender, considerate man she knew so well was gone, shut away from the world in a reflexive gesture on Spock's part. The trouble was, he had not only shut himself in; he had shut her out.

This night, Christine was determined to coax him out of his shell. For the first time since the birth, she felt well and like making love. As usual, he was clad only in his loin cloth and, when she undressed for bed, she deliberately left hers off underneath her gown.

Snuggling up spoon-style against his bare back, she pressed herself against him, slipping her hand across his ribs and around to rest on his chest, feeling the springy hair underneath her fingers. She made a little contented noise in her throat and slowly wriggled against him, but there was no response. They each knew the other's sexual signals very well, no matter how subtle, and usually Spock would have rolled over and taken her in his arms, kissing her with warmth and growing passion. Tonight, though, he didn't move at all.

Stepping up to the next level of play, she let her hand roam across his chest until her fingertips encountered one of his nipples. She repeated the action — and abruptly had her wrist seized in his strong grip, removing her hand from his body.

"Don't," he said tersely, then released her.

She raised herself on her elbow and peered over his shoulder at the gaunt lines of his face, his dark beard softening the angles. "Spock, we can make love again," she said softly, running her hand up his arm to his shoulder. "I am feeling fine."

"I am not," came his harsh reply. "Please just go to sleep."

"What's wrong?" she persisted.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, exasperated. "Christine, I am not in the mood to have sex tonight. I am fatigued and only wish to sleep. Now do so as well."

Stunned and deeply hurt by his rebuff, she flung herself away from him, turning back to back, but no part of her touching him. She pressed her lips tightly together and squeezed her eyes shut to try to keep from crying, but her face crumpled anyway.

Pressing both hands over her mouth to muffle the sobs, she gave herself over to the tears that flooded down her cheeks. She was aware of Spock's breathing coming heavier and faster for a few minutes, then suddenly he threw the furs back and lunged to his feet. Snatching up another of the sleeping furs, he stalked over to the other side of the fire and lay down, wrapping it around him. That brought a fresh stab of pain to Christine's aching heart and she wept until she finally sank into exhausted slumber

* * *

As winter wore on, Spock's temper continued to be on a hair trigger. He might go for days when he hardly spoke or acknowledged his wife and son, but then on others, the slightest thing set him off. He seemed a bit cross on this particular morning, almost fidgety, and had taken up the task of working on his arrowheads. As Christine watched him, her mouth tightened a bit. She didn't know why he was bothering. He hadn't been hunting since T'Larin's death and they had been living on the stored foods that they had put away the previous fall.

As he worked, Christine and Sapel were engaged in a reading lesson. He had moved well up into the elementary lessons and was progressing steadily. Christine was hard-pressed to pull things from her memory to transcribe. Instead, she had begun to write stories for him, making them up as she went and laboriously inking them onto the rabbit-hide scrolls they used as books.

This delighted Sapel, who had grown particularly close to his mother since the tragedy and the alienation of his father's attention. Seated with Christine on one side of the doorway, taking advantage of the light, Sapel read quietly aloud, his mother helping him over difficult words. On the other side of the entrance, Spock was attempting to chip a flint flake into the proper shape for an arrow point, but he was having a hard time. There was a flaw in the stone that resisted his manipulations and finally the arrowhead snapped altogether, ruining it.

" _Lunikkh ta-vik!_ " Spock exploded and flung the broken arrow point against the wall with all his might.

Christine and Sapel both flinched in shock, staring at him. He was seething, his face flushed a bright green as he sat across from them, his shoulders heaving with the deep breaths he was taking. Finally, Christine ventured quietly, "It was just an arrowhead, Spock. You can make another."

He brought his glare up to lock on her, his eyes black and hard as obsidian, his brows bunched over them. " _Kash, aduna_ ," he ground out. " _Tu aq'fal ni'halar!_ "

Christine was shaking, but she'd had just about enough. "Speak English! You know I don't understand Vulcan!"

Slowly, he rose to his feet, his teeth clenched as he towered over her. "I said you will be silent! It is not your place to criticize me!"

The way he was leaning over her made it impossible for her to rise. He had her in a deliberately submissive position. Moreover, his fists were clenched and she was genuinely afraid that any further provocation on her part would result in physical retaliation. She was well aware of his strength and knew that one blow could cripple or kill her.

Trembling in real fear of him, she said in a small, humble voice, "Yes, husband. I beg forgiveness."

In truth, she was not one bit sorry or submissive, but she had to get out of this particular position. She'd never heard of a Vulcan having a nervous breakdown before, but Spock was having one now! The medical professional in her was already busy analyzing his symptoms and behavior over the past two months, formulating treatment, and at the same time thinking how she could protect Sapel and herself from the mental illness that had gripped him.

Her quiet answer placated him somewhat. He straightened and his fists unclenched, but his face was still dark as death. Without further comment, he snatched up his fur tunic and stalked out, grabbing his hunting spear on the way.

Once Spock was gone, the tension broke and so did Sapel's control. He burst into tears and Christine gathered her son to her, comforting him.

"Why is Papa so mean lately?" the boy sobbed. "You didn't do anything to him!"

She rocked her child and held him close. "Shhhh... Papa is very sick right now," she answered. "Only he doesn't know he's sick. We just have to be as careful as we can around him and try to help him get well."

The boy continued to sniffle, not understanding. Mooch, who had dived for cover during Spock's outburst, crept out now and crawled into her young master's lap. She was still limping a bit but otherwise had recovered from her wounds. Sapel stroked her sleek coat and scratched her large, upright ears, finding solace in his pet's love.

Christine sighed and turned her thoughts back to her husband's aberrant behavior, trying to decide the best way to proceed.

* * *

Spock didn't come back until late into the night. Christine was still awake, listening for him, growing worried, when she heard him open the door guard, then close and secure it. Softly, she breathed a sigh of relief, but it was a cautious one, for she didn't yet know what state of mind he was in. She had stewed all day about his behavior and had been alternately mad and concerned. At the moment, she was leaning toward mad.

He quietly walked back toward their bed and she could hear him removing his clothing. It was a bit of a shock when he slid into the furs beside her, partially because his body was still cold from being outside and partially because she realized with a start that he was naked. She had her back to him but could feel his firm penis pressing against her buttocks as he rolled over and slipped his arm around her waist. Without a word, he brought his hand up and cupped it around one of her breasts, squeezing gently.

She tensed a bit and her anger grew. She'd had all day to think about the way he had acted and she had decided that, mental turmoil or not, he owed her an apology for threatening and intimidating her. But there was still no word between them, only his rough handling of her breast and his obvious aroused state.

He didn't seem to notice her lack to response and bent his lips to her neck, nuzzling and kissing her as he massaged her breast through the soft covering of her gown and rolled her nipple around with her fingers. She bore it, but when his hands traveled down to the hem of her gown and pulled it up, she twitched away from him.

"Stop! I don't feel like it tonight," she said in a whisper so she wouldn't wake Sapel.

Spock paused for a startled second, then seized the gown and jerked it out of the way. His fingers dug into the soft mound at the base of her thighs and pushed their way between her legs. "I _do_ feel like it tonight!" he answered harshly. He began to fondle her clitoris but there was nothing gentle about his touch.

She tried to squirm away from him, growing more and more incensed. "Stop! I don't want sex tonight!"

With a growl, he yanked her flat of her back and in another second was atop her, forcing her legs apart as he positioned himself to mount her. "Wife, it is not for you to decide whether or not. That is _my_ prerogative. You need only lie quietly and receive me."

She glared up at him and tried to struggle, but his strength was too great. He had pinned her wrists up out of the way and held them there on either side of her head. He stared down at her for a moment to ascertain that she would indeed obey him, then, satisfied by his dominance over her, he dipped his hips and probed, readily finding the well of her womanhood. The feel of pressing his erection into her body after so long a time excited him still further and he heaved himself into her, sinking nearly hilt deep.

He noted her flinch but dismissed it. She would warm soon enough. The tight clinging sheath of her body drove him to full arousal and he began to thrust into her energetically, concentrating on the growing tightness at the base of his groin. Beneath him, Christine closed her eyes and lay impassively, enduring but not responding.

At last, he brought himself to fruition and hunched his hips hard into her, filling her with his hot flood. He thrust into her a few more times as the last of his ejaculate pulsed out of him, then he was done.

Christine opened her eyes and looked up at him, her face cold with hate. "So, that's the way we do it now," she said through clenched teeth. "If I want sex and you don't, too bad. If you want sex and I don't, then you rape me."

He stared back, having the temerity to look puzzled. "I did not rape you. You are my wife."

She drew her breath sharply in fury. "Get off me! I am nobody's wife!" Surprised by her reaction, he withdrew from her and released her, sitting back on his heels. Christine pulled the furs up around her and scrambled back against the wall, as far away from him as she could get. "And don't you _ever_ touch me like that again! If you do ... I'll kill you!"

Nothing more was said between them. Spock retrieved his loin cloth and slipped into it, then got a couple of the heavy bedding furs and moved to the far side of the cave, to the place he had originally had his bed when they had first come here.

Although he had left her bed before, it had been temporary. Now this action was filled with portent. He was plainly saying that he had left her, no longer considered her his mate. He would have gone to another place entirely if he'd had anyplace else to go. For now, he would no longer share her bed or consider himself her husband.

That suited Christine just fine. To her thinking, she had kicked him out and good riddance. Violated, outraged and feeling as if her heart had been wrenched from her body, she finally sank down into her mussed furs and softly wept.

* * *

When dawn light came, it fell upon the tall, silent man standing on the edge of the western plains. He had been there for some time, long before the first twilight hint of morning had tinted the eastern sky. Bundled warmly against the sharp north wind, he stood staring across the wide, snow-covered expanse to the peaks of the distant western mountains. Their tall pinnacles lifted high and had already caught the first rosy hues of the dawn, gleaming citadels on the far horizon.

Spock had stood for a long time in the cold darkness, unable to sleep and unable to stand being in the same emotion-charged space with his wife. Ex-wife. Whatever she was now.

He hung his head and closed his eyes in pain. He honestly did not know where their relationship stood. He had betrayed her, ruined it all by his behavior. And, the most frightening thing of all was that he still had little or no control over the way he was acting. The savage in him, the beast, still rampaged nearly unchecked and it was he who had taken Christine forcibly last night.

Even in his maddest moments of _pon farr_ , it hadn't been like this. She had welcomed him then, given herself freely to him. She had drawn him slowly but surely out of the self-imposed shell in which he had lived for so long, given him love, cared for him, borne his children, been lover, nurse, friend, partner.

And he had utterly ruined it. His emotions had run amok these past couple of months and he didn't know how to get them back under control. But he must! Otherwise, he would descend into total madness, be irretrievably lost. He feared he was nearly at that point. His actions last night proved it.

Ashamed, humiliated, torn apart by conflicting emotions, Spock closed his eyes, his brows bunched together, and breathed a silent prayer, a fervent plea for help _. Fathers, help me! I have lost the pathway and I do not know where I am! Help me find my way again!_

From within, from the core of his soul, a voice whispered back. ... _climb the steps, Spock_... _Climb the steps of Mount Seleya_...

Spock lifted his head, blinking, searching mentally to find the source. _What? But Mt. Seleya is on Vulcan_ , he answered, not understanding.

The voice came again and he realized that it was not one voice, but many, whispering in unison. ... _climb the steps of Mount Seleya_...

Spock shook her head, bewildered by this message. It didn't make any sense.

The sun lifted higher above the hills and, as it did, the tallest crest of the mountain range blazed as if set afire, its glacier-crowned summit catching and reflecting the new day's light.

It burned like a flare for a long, glorious minute and Spock found his eyes locked into the bright point in the distance.

"...Seleya..." he found himself murmuring. Then he knew. It was his only hope of salvation and tears came unbidden to his eyes.

"Climb the steps," he repeated and with a wrenching revelation, suddenly understood what he had to do, the desperate leap of faith and discovery that would cleanse him and make him whole once again.

* * *

Christine was startled when Spock came striding into the cave and went to the back storage area, rummaging around for a few minutes. She was still in bed on her side of the room and she could tell that it was barely light outside.

He reappeared with his backpack and knelt down on his side of the fire, beginning to go through his things and stow them in the pack with a purposeful motion. He packed his spare arrowheads and toolmaking equipment, rolled and stowed a change of clothing, and mittens and snow mask. Then he began to put bundles of jerky and dried vegetables, grains and journey bread, dried fruits and pouches of nuts into the backpack.

Christine sat up, watching him with interest and some concern. "Spock? What are you doing? Are you going hunting?"

He didn't answer for a moment, then put a firestarter into the pack. "No," he answered laconically. Satisfied that he had what he needed, he closed its flap and secured it, then began rolling up one of the large sleeping furs and tied it with rawhide lashes across the top of the pack.

Beginning to grow worried, Christine got up, keeping one of the furs wrapped around her. Sapel, awakened by the activity, sat up sleepily in Christine's bed, where he'd spent the night.

Spock ignored them, then went back to the far section of the cave and retrieved their bullhide tent, adding that to his load. Christine was becoming alarmed and repeated, "You're not going hunting? Then why are you packing?"

"I am leaving," he answered matter-of-factly.

She gasped in shock. "What? What are you talking about? Where do you think you're going?"

He sat down to pull on his heavy mukluks, the thick fur overshoes that kept his feet warm and protected during winter treks. "I am going to Mount Seleya," he replied and got to his feet.

"Spock, Mount Seleya is on Vulcan," she reminded him gently. "You're going to have a pretty far walk if that's where you're headed."

He retrieved his waterbag and went to fill it from the large water holder hanging on the far wall. "I know where Mt. Seleya is, Christine," he answered, a bit of exasperation in his voice. "I was speaking figuratively. But I am going to the mountains."

"What mountains?"

"The ones to the west of here." He stoppered the water bag and slung the strap over his head and one arm, adjusting it to hang properly. Then he found his heavy hooded tunic and slipped it over his head.

A note of panic was building with increasing speed in Christine. "This has gone far enough, Spock. Stop this nonsense at once!"

He hefted his pack and shrugged into it, got it seated properly, then almost as an afterthought, took his snowshoes down from their wall pegs and hung their straps on the wooden brace of the pack.

Christine's eyes were wide with fear and Sapel had gotten up, too, staring at his father in uncomprehending fright. She moved to bar the doorway. "You are not going anywhere! Now put that stuff away!"

He merely stood looking thoughtfully around him, mentally calculating whether or not he had forgotten anything important. He weighed taking his bow and quiver then decided against it. He had his knife and would take his heaviest hunting spear to use as both walking staff and weapon.

"Spock? Do you hear me?!"

"Yes, perfectly well," he answered rather absent-mindedly. Turning he went to stand before her and looked down into her panic-filled blue eyes. His expression was mild, his voice tender. He seemed very much his old self except for this ludicrous mission of his. "I am unsure how long I will be gone. You should be well supplied until you can begin hunting. It is not very long until spring."

"Nooo!!" she wailed in disbelief.

He looked down at his son, clinging to Christine's robe. "Sapel, you will be the man of the house until I return. Take care of your mother and obey her."

"Papa! Where are you going?" the boy demanded in horror.

Spock reached down and rested his hand on the child's dark, unruly hair. "To find what I have lost," he said, then turned his attention back to Christine. "Take care, my _t'hy'la_." He took her upper arms in his strong hands and physically moved her aside. Before releasing her, he leaned down and quickly kissed her quivering lips. Then he ducked underneath the doorway and walked away down the path toward the creek.

Christine was too stunned to move for a long moment, then she hurriedly found her shoes and pulled them on. With just the fur robe to ward off the cold, she flew after him. He had already crossed the creek and had climbed to the top of the slope leading onto the plains. She caught him there, quite near the spot where this tragedy had begun.

Grabbing his arm, she stopped him. "You really mean to do it, don't you?" she demanded in amazement. "You're really going to abandon us to the elements!"

"Christine, you will be much safer and more comfortable here in our home than I will be on my pilgrimage," he answered quietly. "There will be some hardship, but you will get through it in fine shape. You are extraordinarily resourceful."

She stared at him. "You lousy bastard! How dare you just walk away and leave us here!"

He gazed down at her patiently, not at all angry. "This is something I must do to save my sanity and perhaps my life. Perhaps all of our lives. I must symbolically 'climb the steps of Mt. Seleya.' Specifically, I must go into the wilderness and undergo a ritual called _kae'kh't'kotal._ Mind realignment. Unless I do this, I will become totally insane. My reprehensible behavior last night ... for which I am deeply sorry, by the way ... is only a foretaste of how bad it will become."

"You can go do your ritual nearby!" she argued desperately.

He shook his head slowly. "No. The journey is part of the cleansing of the soul and mind." He caressed her cold cheek lovingly. "Go back inside now, _t'hy'la_ , before you freeze. I will come back by summer if I can."

"Summer?!" Tears of abject fear were blinding her. "Spock, no! Please! There must be some other way!"

He only caressed her face one more time, then said softly, "Farewell, my beloved wife." Then, turning, he walked away, leaving her standing numbed and aghast in the early morning sun.

Absolutely shocked to the core, Christine stood watching Spock disappear into the rolling prairie landscape. She'd stood here many times in the past, watching until he was nearly out of sight, but always she had known he was simply going to hunt. This time he wouldn't be back. Not for weeks. Months. Maybe never.

She and Sapel were alone here — and the whole weight of that fact came crashing down on her with a force that had not gripped her since shortly before Sapel was born. That time it had been the realization that she and Spock were truly trapped here on this planet. There would be no timely rescue. No materializing Starfleet personnel to save the day. No cavalry coming over the hill in the nick of time. They were two people, utterly, completely alone and it was up to them to survive. Because there was not another human ... or Vulcan, for that matter ... on this entire planet.

She had ended up in a full-fledged panic attack, screaming in a voice that wrenched itself up from the depths of her soul. Spock had rushed to her aid, ready to fight tigers for her, only to find her hysterical with a fear he could not combat, except by taking her in his arms and promising her he would never leave her.

Christine began to shake with fury and cold and dread. Tears came to her eyes and she clutched the fur robe tighter around her, searching until she located the tiny figure moving steadily away. Suddenly, everything that she had endured, everything that had happened to her, every hurt and terror and hardship boiled up in her and erupted like an exploding geyser.

"You lousy, fucking bastard!" she screamed, all her hatred and anger focused on the man who had betrayed her trust so heartlessly. "You spineless coward! You pointy-eared, cold‑blooded—" She had to stop and draw breath, her sobs keeping her from completing the invective. "Leonard was right about you all the time!! You're inhuman!! It's all your fault that I'm stuck here on this miserable goddamned, filthy planet!! You hear me?! _It's your fault!!_ I'll never forgive you for this!! Never!!"

She sobbed again, her tears blinding her so badly that she could no longer see the distant figure. But she knew he could "hear" her. She could feel it through the still active bondlink. Her burst of adrenalin beginning to fade, she sank down into the snow, sobbing, still cursing him with all her heart, although her voice had dropped so that she was only speaking to herself.

"You said you'd never leave me, Spock," she cried, her eyes squeezed closed and her face lifted to the heavens in misery, her whole body shaking with the force of the despair gripping her. "You promised! Oh, God, what am I going to do?! How are we going to survive?! I can't do it alone! I just can't!" She hugged the robe around her and rocked as she poured out her fear and sorrow. "Oh, God, help me! I can't do this by myself!"

After a while, she couldn't cry anymore and a feeling of numbness began to settle over her. Her panic and hysteria somewhat abated, her mind began to work again as the shock of the moment wore off. Her innate strength and sense and resourcefulness began to reassert themselves.

 _Sapel_ , she thought. _Poor little guy. He must be terrified. He must think I've abandoned him, too!_

She got to her feet and took one last look in the direction Spock had taken. She could see nothing of him except the line of tracks he had left in the snow. Hard, cold resolve began to form in Christine's heart.

 _You bastard_ , she thought, hoping he could pick up her thoughts clearly through the link. _You think you can just trot off to 'find yourself', do you? It's a 'Vulcan thing', so that makes it alright, huh? Well, you've got another think coming, buddy boy. You can go fuck yourself for all I care. I don't need you. Good riddance. Have a nice life. Hasta la vista!_

She spat into the snow at her feet, then with a final glare, she whipped around and marched back toward the cave, the fur robe clutched around her like an imperial cape.

* * *

It had been four days now and Spock still had not reached the mountains. He had marched steadily, breaking out the snowshoes when the drifts became deep and treacherous. The contented, purposeful feeling he had harbored as he began had been quickly shattered. Before he had gone a half mile, he had been startled by Christine's raging screams far behind him. They were faint, but he could hear her.

More than that, her anger and hatred had blasted into him full force through the bondlink, causing him to stagger before he quickly shielded against it. He had stopped for a moment and turned back to look at her small figure, seeing her sink down into the snow, huddled in misery. For that moment, he nearly turned to go back to her, but then knew that he could not. If he didn't see this through, it would be the end of them all.

His soul now as heavy as the pack he carried, Spock resumed his journey, fully aware of his wife's parting epithet to him. He closed his eyes in pain for a second, knowing that he had destroyed their relationship and had lost the respect of his son, knowing that this journey could mean his death in the end. But it was better that one should die than both of them, for his growing madness would ultimately have killed them all.

And so he focused upon the goal of the highest peak in the distant range, which he had begun to call Seleya, and hour after hour, day after day, kept it as his point of reference in the empty, featureless plains. He had entered an area that in summer must be endless miles of grassland, stretching as far as the eye could in every direction, its expanse broken only by an occasional gully or streambed, sometimes harboring a twisted, stunted tree, every one of them bent before the prevailing wind. Only the distant mountains allowed him to tell which direction he was headed.

The wind here never ceased, having nothing to break its force. It blew out of the north with a velocity that sometimes threatened to blow him over, but usually with just enough strength to harry and chill him. Despite his protective clothing, it managed to cut its way through on the right side of his body and face, the side that perpetually faced into it as he struggled west toward the mountains. He had long since donned his snow mask, both to protect his face and to keep from going snowblind in the barren white wilderness. It helped in that respect, but it tunneled his vision down to the way before him, blocking his peripheral vision and distorting his sensory input. And finally the tunnel vision, the constant wind, the silence and empty wilderness, the ceaseless work of putting one foot ahead of the other began to tell.

He didn't know how long he had been tramping across the snowfield since he had set out at dawn. He had eaten little over the past four days, just some journey bread and dried fruit, too intent on reaching his goal to stop for a proper meal. His stomach tight now with emptiness, he ignored its grumblings and leaned forward as a gust of wind buffeted him.

"It blows thin this morning, hey, brother?" came a male voice to his right.

Spock jerked his head up and around, so startled that he nearly fell, an inarticulate sound his only response. A stocky Vulcan male strode at his side, peering at him from beneath heavy slanted brows. "The wind. It bites hard this morning," the man said. He was of middle height, broad of shoulder and chest, long black hair unkempt and dirty, dressed in barbarous fashion of a lost time, the crudely-tanned hide of a _le'matya_ tied around his shoulders like a cape. He carried a heavy spear much like Spock did and there was a knife stuck in his belt that was fashioned from a gigantic tooth, a carved bone hilt ornamenting it.

"Who are you?!" Spock demanded.

"I am Asakar," the man answered. "The one you run away from."

"I do not run from anyone. I am on my way to the mountains for healing," Spock replied.

Asakar laughed, his deep voice just hinting at scorn. "Healing takes many forms. Sometimes the best healing is to cut off a cankered limb. Other times, it is best to leave well alone. A man must know how deep a wound runs before deciding how to heal it."

Spock merely stared at him, still trying to puzzle this out.

Asakar gestured toward the mountains. "Shall we go on? It is still two days' journey."

"Who are you? And how did you get here?" Spock demanded, standing his ground.

The other Vulcan grinned, showing crooked, stained teeth beneath his beard. "I told you. I am Asakar. And you brought me here. Don't you remember?"

Spock shook his head. "I never saw you before. How did you get here? Are there others?" He took a sudden step toward the other man. "If you've harmed my wife and son—"

Asakar laughed harshly again. "If they're harmed, then it's you done the harming. Though why you care what a woman thinks—"

Spock lunged at him ... only to find himself down on his hands and knees in the snow. Slowly, he shook his head to clear it and got to his feet, turned to find where the other man had gone. He was astonished to see that he was alone. And there were only his footprints in the snow.

Hallucinating. He was hallucinating, he decided. Time to stop in his journey and rest.

Not far off, he could see the depressed line of a little creek bed, scrubby bent trees marking its path. He set out for that site, deciding that he would build a fire and set up camp there. Tomorrow he would continue his journey. On the horizon, the mountain peaks were rising steadily higher ... perhaps 50 miles away. But he still had at least two days' walk ahead of him, maybe more.

Sleep and hot food would help clear his mind. When he could once more think properly, he would go on. But tonight he would stay here and gather his wits about him.

Shifting his pack into a more comfortable position, Spock set out once more.

* * *

The gully had proved dry of water, although it showed evidence that it flooded during the spring rains. Its bottom held some snow, but that was easily brushed away to the bare dirt beneath and, best of all, it was deep enough that it shielded a seated man from the wind that blew tirelessly over the plains just beyond the rim. Spock had found a place where water had washed out a depression enough to accommodate a small fire and room for a person to sleep with his back against the wall. The few trees yielded tinder and some deadwood, enough though not much, and soon Spock was relishing the warmth of his first fire in four days.

Water poured from his waterbag into a stone bowl simmered quickly and he sprinkled some dried herbs into it, letting it steep for a few minutes, as he broke out a length of jerky and a wafer of bread. Both were hard but edible. Spock gnawed off a piece of the dried venison between his molars, then sat back to chew at the spicy meat, sipping occasionally at the hot tea to encourage it to soften.

Gradually his belly filled once again, the tea warming him from the inside out. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Didn't think you ate meat," a familiar voice interrupted him.

Spock's eyes flew open to discover Asakar sitting cross-legged on the other side of the fire. The Vulcan was using his knife to butcher a small rodent-like animal. It took Spock a second for the realization to hit him that the animal's blood was green.

"That's a Vulcan animal!" he blurted.

" _Ti'ya_ ," Asakar confirmed. "Not much meat on 'em but a man'll eat anything when his belly growls loud enough, eh? I'd offer to share but..." He brought his dark eyes up to meet Spock's, his expression just bordering on hard. "You got your own, don't ya? Don't think Surak would approve." He went back to cutting up the rodent.

Spock looked down at the length of venison jerky in his hand, then back at the barbarian. "How do you know Surak? I mean ... this is not logical. If you are whom I believe you to be, then you cannot possibly know of Surak. He would not have been born yet."

"Mmm. You're right." Asakar had the little carcass stripped and brought the body up to rip a mouthful of the still warm meat off with his strong teeth, chewing it raw. "But ask him yourself. He's right there."

Spock whipped around and gasped. Surak was indeed sitting beside him on the other side, clad in his characteristic robes, placidly observing the other two. Spock quickly stilled his demeanor and offered the _ta'al_ salute. "Live long and prosper, Grandfather. I am surprised to find you here."

Surak returned the salute. "Peace and long life, Grandson. Why are you surprised? Did you not call out to your Fathers and beg our help?"

"Indeed. But I had not expected a manifestation."

Surak glanced at the other Vulcan present and just a slight hint of distaste crossed his face. "Asakar, must you do that here?"

Asakar looked up, green blood dribbled liberally down his ragged beard, and grinned in delight. "I do it to annoy you, Surak. And to show our Grandson that your Ways were not always _The_ Ways."

"They are _his_ Ways and I am here to help him regain them."

Spock looked down at the fire and raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I understand this now. You are the two sides of my nature, the barbaric and the civilized, and you have come to attempt to persuade me to follow one course or the other."

"See?!" Asakar crowed to Surak, pointing a bloody rodent bone at Spock. "The boy isn't as stupid as you think he is! I told you he'd figure it out!"

"I never at any time implied that he was stupid," Surak responded calmly. "I merely intimated that he had strayed from the path of _c'Thia_ and was having trouble in his search to achieve _arie'mnu_. And that you were leading him farther and farther away from his goal."

Asakar spat into the fire. "Bah! How do you think he's managed to survive here? Do you think that beast would've listened while he sat down to discuss logic with it? Ha! He caught it and killed it because I took control! Too bad the child died, but it was just a girl child."

"Enough!" Spock interrupted him, his brows lowered over cold, black eyes. "I grieve for her as I would a son! She was child of my seed and Daughter to my House!"

Asakar sketched an apologetic nod. "Sorry, Grandson. You're right. A man wants strong sons, but where would we be without strong women to keep the camp and bear those sons?"

Spock settled back, somewhat placated. "Tell me, Asakar, are you responsible for the way I was behaving toward my wife?"

"How so? You mean asserting your rights on her? Of course." Asakar tore another piece of meat off the _ti'ya_ and chewed it with his mouth open. "She's there to scratch your itch, isn't she? Not her place to deny you."

"You have caused me dishonor because of that attitude," Spock replied. "I concede that you have helped me survive in this barbaric world, but neither my wife nor I are products of that world. Because I treated her with disrespect and scorn, she has in return scorned me. It will be with difficulty that I win her trust again when I have returned from this journey."

Asakar shrugged indifferently. "She's not Vulcan. She doesn't understand our People. You should beat her if she scorns you. It is the way of things."

"It was the way of things in _your_ time, but no longer," Spock replied. "Nor is it sanctioned in _qomi_ society or most of the Federation worlds."

Asakar finished gnawing the rodent bones and tossed them away, settling back with a satisfied belch. He folded his hands over his belly and peered across the fire at the other two. "Which is why your women rule over you," he said. "I advise that you return and take from her what you want."

Spock shook his head. "You cannot understand. That part of you I reject totally. Christine is a proud, intelligent woman. Because of you, she has suffered dishonor and I must search for the means to make amends for that. Now begone with you!"

Asakar eyed him skeptically for a few seconds, then shrugged and disappeared.

Spock turned to Surak. "Grandfather, I must find a middle ground here. Asakar was correct in saying that he has helped me to survive here. For instance, I have chosen to reject your teachings against the eating of meat. I have found it necessary and logical."

"There is no cause that can justify the taking of another life, even a non-sentient one," Surak answered flatly.

"There is survival. In winter, this planet does not produce enough vegetable food to sustain life. I have meditated on this for many days and ultimately come to the conclusion that the taking of those lives is unavoidable in order to sustain the lives of myself, my wife and my son." Spock sighed. "I regret that circumstances have forced me onto this path."

"You have followed your own path all the days of your life," Surak answered. "Though you strive for _c'Thia_ and to follow the Vulcan way in everything you do, you have found that path closed to you many times. I do not approve of this, but your logic is sound." He held up his hand in ta'al and said, "I leave you now, Grandson. _Mene sakkhet ur seveh_."

The wind kicked dust into Spock's face, causing him to blink reflexively, and when he opened his eyes once more, he was alone. He wasn't surprised to find no physical marks to show that he ever had visitors.

He took a deep breath of the heavy, frosty air and thought he could smell snow. If so, he would stay here until the weather cleared. That decided, he broke out the bullhide tent and began the task of building himself a shelter against the cold, feeling better than he had in days.

* * *

"There. That ought to do it." Christine stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. When she had returned to the cave and succeeded in comforting Sapel, her resourceful mind had gone into action. The first thing she had decided to do was strengthen the door guard. It had taken several days but she had built a heavier, more formidable gate and had figured out a way to anchor it into the sides of the cavern entrance so that it could not be pushed in from the outside and could only be pulled out with difficulty. There was a trick to untangling the interlocking branches and avoiding the thorns and spikes that faced outward. Of course, sheer brute force could break down the door, but the attacker would have to be very determined indeed!

Christine had left a small space open so that Mooch could come and go, but otherwise she was confident that she and Sapel could now sleep safe at night. More importantly, _Sapel_ was sure. He beamed happily as he surveyed the heavy new door.

"Yeah, that oughta do just fine, Mama," he said.

It had been a week since Spock had left and in that time the weather had turned unseasonably warm. In this part of the world, winds out of the south had lifted the temperatures and melted all the snow, leaving the ground muddy but with a hint of the coming spring in its earthy scent. Venturesome grass sent up its first green threads and a few brave trees budded. Christine wasn't optimistic that it would last. It was still too early for spring to truly have arrived.

"Alright." Christine unlatched the door and set it aside. "That's one thing off our list of things to do. Next up, we need to inventory our supplies."

"What's ... inver ... invin..."

"Inventory. It means to count and make a list of," she explained. "What I want you to do is count our baskets and bowls for me, okay?"

"Okay." Sapel took the piece of slate and chalk his mother gave him and went back to begin the task he'd been assigned. That done, Christine turned to go outside. She had the unenviable chore of going through the brine barrels to see exactly how much preserved food they had left.

She hadn't taken more than a couple of steps, though, before Sapel's voice stopped her. "Mama?" he asked, following her out and standing fearfully in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

She came back and knelt down, taking him by the shoulders. "I'm going down to the brine barrels. I'd like you to count the baskets like I asked you to."

His brown eyes were filled with trepidation as he peered back at her. "I don't want you to go," he said.

"I know you're scared, honey, but I need you to start being brave again," Christine told him sincerely. "Remember, Papa said you're to be the man of the family now."

Sapel was thoughtful for a moment then asked, "Mama? Is Papa ever coming back?"

Christine sighed and was quiet for a moment. "I hope so, sweetie. I really do. But I really don't know."

"Why did Papa leave like that?" the boy pleaded.

"Your Papa was having a really bad time after T'Larin died. He needed some time alone to get his feelings all sorted out again." Christine couldn't suppress a slight frown. _Like I didn't_..." she thought bitterly. Then she banished those emotions. She had vowed to herself that she wouldn't say bad things about Spock to his son, no matter what she might feel personally.

"Why did he have to go so far away?" Sapel asked. "Couldn't he do that here?"

"He said he couldn't," Christine answered. "He said the journey itself would help him."

Sapel looked down for a moment then back up, his dark eyes meeting her blue ones. "Mama ... do you want Papa to come back?"

That took her somewhat aback for a few seconds. "I'll be honest with you, Sapel," she finally answered. "Right now, I'm very, very angry with your father and I'm not sure I would be happy if he were here with us."

"Don't you love Papa anymore?"

That constricted her heart and brought a hint of tears to her eyes. "I have loved your Papa since the day I met him," she said softly. "I think I'll love him until the day I die. But I'm also very, very annoyed with him at the moment. You can love someone with all your heart and still be mad at him. Sometimes married people get so mad at each other that they have to take some time to be apart and think about whether or not they can live together."

Christine drew her little boy into her arms and hugged him. "But just remember, Sapel, that no matter what, I love you and your Papa loves you and that will never, ever change."

"I love you, too, Mama," he answered, putting his arms around her neck. "And I love Papa. But Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm mad at Papa, too," he confessed and started to cry. "I didn't want him to go away and he did!" The little boy dissolved into plaintive sobs and clung to his mother.

 _Do you hear that, you bastard?_ Christine thought directly at Spock, hoping he hadn't blocked her. _Do you hear what you've done to your son_?

But she didn't say it out loud so that Sapel could hear. Instead, she held him until he stopped crying, then patted him and kissed his little face. "Well, your Mama's still here and I'm not going anywhere ... except down to those barrels to count fish! The baskets can wait until later. If you don't feel comfortable yet being alone, you come help Mama do that. Okay?"

"Okay," he smiled, wiping a runny nose on his sleeve. "Can Mooch come, too?"

"Of course, Mooch can come!" Christine answered, standing up. "Doesn't Mooch go just about everywhere you do?"

He laughed at that and took his mother's hand, starting down the path to where the brine barrels stood, Mooch scampering along behind them, still favoring her injured leg.

* * *

Spring's first breath had not reached the mountain pass through which Spock had struggled earlier in the day. The snow here was still deep and the blustery wind whipped down the rocky slopes, cutting into him with knife-like precision. He was chilled to the bone by the time he found the place of his sojourn. It was a shelf of broken granite facing south and there was a gigantic slab of sloughed off stone leaning against the mountain face with enough clearance to serve as a crude shelter.

He had been collecting and packing firewood the whole way up the slope and now he crouched in his sanctuary and laid out a hearth fire, his hands shaking from the cold. Then he found that he couldn't get the fire to stay lit. The wind blew out every small spark that tried to take hold in the tinder.

At last, Spock arose and managed to hang and peg down the bullhide as a windbreak, just enough to allow the fire to catch and settle into the dried twigs and grasses that the Vulcan fed into it. Once it was burning sufficiently, he began to lay on larger logs, allowing it to build into a medium-sized blaze.

It was growing dark by this time and Spock hugged his heavy sleeping fur close around him, huddled as near to the fire as he dared, soaking up its warmth and light. When he had stopped shivering, he grubbed deep into his pack and brought out another hank of jerky. He was getting heartily tired of the dried meat, but he had little else. He had not hunted during his trek here and did not plan to hunt for some time to come. In fact, this would likely prove his last meal for some time, for he would fast while undergoing the ritual of mind alignment, _kae'kh't'kotal._

He paused before he bit into the venison and then returned it to the pack, replacing it with a circle of journey bread, a concoction of dried fruit pounded into grain and shaped into round, hand-sized cakes. This seemed more appropriate to ward off his hunger as he prepared to settle into the deep meditation that would comprise the ritual.

"You please me, my son," said Surak's voice beside him.

Spock barely started, growing used to these phantom visits by his ancestors. He merely glanced at the figure of Surak sitting cross-legged beside him, oblivious to the cold of the night around them. "It seemed logical. It is more conducive to the rite I would perform."

"You should seek to maintain that decision in all things," the spectral Vulcan responded. "You have polluted yourself with the eating of flesh."

"But you have never precisely forbidden the eating of meat if such eating is logical," Spock pointed out. "The Tenets only say 'Take only life that will not notice you taking it.' Is a hare or buck aware enough of its own life to know when it dies?"

"Can you say that it does not?" Surak countered. "The Tenets also say 'As far as possible, do not kill. Can you return life to what you kill? Then be slow to take life.' You have killed much since you have been here, Spock."

"Indeed. You have said it yourself. _'As far as possible, do not kill_.' But I found the taking of these lives necessary. I find in myself no regret for them, for it kept my wife and my son and myself alive and clothed."

Surak mused for a long moment, staring into the fire. "Well for them," he finally conceded. "But not for you, Spock. Do you not see that this straying from the Way of Truth has led to your being here now? The killing and eating of flesh is only one way in which you have forsaken your path."

"I have found it logical to do so," the younger Vulcan responded solemnly. "It was not without due thought that I turned onto this pathway. It is not without due thought that I remain here. This subject I deem closed, Grandfather. I acknowledge that it is not the Way you would have me tread, but it is the way of logic on this planet and in this place. This planet cannot provide enough vegetable food to support us. Nor will it supply us with material from which we may make clothing and tools. Therefore, the killing of animal life is necessary and logical."

"There are other means that you have not exploited, Spock," Surak argued implacably. "You are the product of a highly technological society. You have narrowed your focus down to such a restricted extent that you have overlooked these means."

Spock peered at him, puzzled. "How so, Grandfather?"

"Plants may be grown artificially. You have not explored the option of raising what you need in greenhouses and hydroponically. This would provide you with the food and materials you need to survive."

Spock could only blink at him for a long second. "I have no way to construct such things, Grandfather," he responded with just a hint of exasperation. "Where would I obtain the materials and tools I would need for such a job? We live on the most primitive of survival levels. We must make everything we have, from the bone needles my wife uses to sew our clothing to the stone axes that I fashion to chop wood."

Surak seemed exasperated as well. "You are thinking solely of what you have in your valley. It is not the only place on this planet. You have merely become used to living there. There are other options that would provide you with some of the things you need."

Spock's eyebrows abruptly shot up. "The ship! Of course! I had forgotten about it and the opportunities it would provide. But is it advisable to relocate when the game is so plentiful near our valley home?"

"Spock, remove yourself from thinking the way you have grown accustomed to think! This planet offers more abundance than you can imagine. It is yours to exploit if you have the wits to do so," Surak commanded. "But do so as a Vulcan, not as a Human."

"I will consider it, Grandfather," Spock answered and already his agile mind was turning over the possibilities.

"Leave the boy alone, Surak," came an unexpected female voice at his side. "You're only confusing him." Spock jerked his head in that direction. A truly ancient Vulcan woman was sitting with her knees drawn up and her arms around them. Her white hair was piled atop her head and her wizened face resembled a gnome's in the flickering firelight.

Reflexively, Spock demanded, "Who are you?"

"I am T'Oman, great-grandmother of Surak. The one who raised him." The old woman's lively black eyes pierced into her ghostly descendant. "Why are you prattling on about this nonsense?" she inquired of Surak. "How in the name of Heya is he going to make a hydroponic garden here? He is doing what he needs to do."

"He will find a way to do what must be done," the other Vulcan responded coolly.

"He's already found a way!" T'Oman snapped. "Don't set him up to waste his time on ridiculous pursuits! Hydroponics, indeed!"

"If he is motivated enough, he—"

"Surak, you talk too much! Back to where you belong!"

Summarily banished, Surak disappeared, his sudden absence causing the sparks from the campfire to swirl up into the night sky. T'Oman settled back, smiling a little. "He means well, but he is full of his own importance," she said. "Don't believe that humble, self-deprecating act. Surak long ago began to believe what people said about him." The old woman snorted and looked across the campfire into the darkness. "He has never lived in an environment such as this and had to depend on his wits to get through a day. Now in my day, we had it a little rougher."

The ancient woman launched into a tale of her childhood that soon had her many-times-great-grandson enthralled. He had never known about this particular ancestor or much about the times in which she had lived. It wasn't long before he was hanging on her story, a little smile lifting the corners of his mouth, and not long after that, his eyes began to close of their own accord, like a small boy nodding off at his mother's knee.

T'Oman glanced at him from the corner of her eye and said, "There. Forgot your problems, didn't you? Good. Now, forget Surak's advice as well. Sleep for a while. You are weary of mind and body, child. You've shouldered a mighty burden for the past four years and it's crushed you. We will help you mourn and heal and regain your strength. You have much to understand and much yet to face, not the least of which is persuading your mate to return to your bed and regaining your son's trust."

Spock's brow furrowed at her words and he felt suddenly tired again. "I don't know how to do that, Grandmother," he answered. "I have felt such intense hatred from her. Such anger."

"As well you should!" the old woman replied. "For you left her during a woman's most vulnerable time. She has only you to turn to in her need, Spock, and you deserted her. But the time has not come to speak of that. Now is the time to sleep. If I could, I'd rock you against this old bosom and sing you a lullaby that I sang to my own babies. You are but a child yet and still need a mother's comfort."

Spock glanced at her, one eyebrow lifting in elegant offense. "I am 42, Grandmother. I am scarcely a child."

"Pah! I was 217 when I died. You have barely lived life yet," T'Oman responded. "But I tire you further with this talk. Sleep now, Spock. We will come to you again."

So saying, the snow-haired old Vulcan faded from view, leaving Spock acutely alone in the winter night, with only the fire's flickering light for company.

* * *

Christine sat cross-legged beside her son's bed, cradling the little boy in her arms as she had when he was very small. He had awakened with a nightmare and she had held him until he could go back to sleep again, all the while softly singing a lullaby lost in the reaches of time.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word," she sang in a voice barely above a whisper as she rocked him. "Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird. If that mockingbird won't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring." She didn't remember all the words, so she hummed through those parts. It didn't matter. Sapel was sound asleep again.

Looking down into his peaceful face, Christine couldn't help but think of Spock. Their son looked so much like him, his dark Vulcan features causing Christine to wonder if this was how Spock had looked as a child. There were Human features, though, in Sapel's face. His red blood caused a rosy blush to tint his cheeks and there was a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. And she smiled, too, at the gap in his lower teeth where he's just recently lost his first baby tooth.

Gently, she laid him in his bed and covered him warmly. Mooch moved in and took her usual place at Sapel's side, turning a couple of times to define her bed, then dropping down into a curled up bundle of red fur.

Smiling, Christine rubbed between the kit's ears before rising and returning to her own sleeping furs. The banked embers in the hearth snapped quietly and glowed in the darkness, while outside the sounds of a gentle rain dripped and pattered.

Christine turned on her side to settle into sleep position and her hand slipped onto the empty place at her side. Without warning, overwhelming loneliness welled up inside her. Unbidden memories flooded back to her of the warmth and security of Spock lying beside her, his body pressed against hers, his breathing deep and regular as he slept. She thought of the times he had drawn her into his arms and loved her, at times gentle and slow, at others hot and passionate. She thought of the times they had merely lain together and talked in low, intimate voices, friends and soulmates, joking with one another, making plans, sometimes at odds.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut and felt hot tears leak out between her lashes. _Oh, God, Spock ... where are you?_ she thought in despair. _Please come home_.

She couldn't help it. As angry as she was at him, she missed him desperately. Alternately hating and loving him, she wanted him back with her ... and she wanted him back the way he was before. The stranger that had emerged with T'Larin's death was not the warm, considerate man she had spent nearly five years with, nor even the cool reserved officer with whom she had served aboard the _Enterprise_. She fully believed that the baby's violent death and Spock's reaction to it had pushed him into some sort of nervous breakdown or whatever Vulcans had when they completely lost control of their emotions. It didn't make him any easier to live with, but at least she understood.

And she'd lost control, too, during that parting scene. She'd been shocked, hurt, betrayed, and panic-stricken when he left her. She still was! But underneath all her conflicting emotions, she still loved him and wanted him back beside her. After all, she couldn't fix things if he wasn't here, and her healer's instinct was to do just that. Find out how she could help and then do it. Maybe it was a control thing. She wasn't sure.

What she was sure of was that there was a terrible emptiness in her bed and in her heart. During the day, she could handle the loneliness, but at night it came down upon her full force. With a huge sigh, she cuddled Spock's pillow against her and managed to fall back to sleep.

* * *

In the inky black of night, wrapped within his furs, Spock peered up at the stars, sharp and glittering in the clear sky. He had spent many nights during their sojourn here searching among their bright points for signs of a ship or some recognition of where they might possibly be, but always to no avail. While he thought he could detect a recognizable supergiant here and there among the thousands of visible stars — that orange one might be Aldebaran, that blue-white one might be Vega — there was no way to tell for sure. The rest of the sky was unfamiliar to him. He, who had studied the stars and dreamed of moving among them since he was Sapel's age and had first comprehended that they were real places up there above him, he was lost now and barred from the far reaches he had loved his whole life.

"They're very beautiful," said a soft female voice at his side.

He wearily looked to see who had joined him now. He had grown quite tired of these ghostly visits, feeling very much like the old man in that holiday tale who kept being visited by spirits on Christmas Eve night. But he stiffened with shock as he recognized the woman beside him.

She turned her beautiful, petite face toward him, her upslanted eyes startling him. They were sapphire blue in a face of exquisite Vulcan perfection. "I've frightened you, Papa. Forgive me."

It took him a moment to get his voice working. "You startled me, T'Larin. That is all," he rasped hoarsely. She turned her face back to the diamond scattered sky. "You used to watch the stars with Mama," she commented.

"How do you know that?" he managed to ask, unable to take his eyes off the woman his daughter would have become.

"I just know. You've watched them all your life." She looked directly at him again, her eyes piercing him. "You love them, don't you, Papa? Almost more than anything."

"No, I have worked and traveled among them, but Vulcans do not assign emotion to such things," he responded.

"I did not say that Vulcans love the stars," she answered pointedly, keeping him fixed in her gaze. "I said that _you_ love them. There is a difference."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Yes. I will concede that. Alright. I suppose you could say that I love the stars."

"What else do you love, Papa?" she demanded, her eyes never wavering. "Do you love the Vulcan way? Do you love logic and reason?"

"I have chosen it as my pathway in life," he answered. "It has been difficult, but I have no regrets on my choice."

"Do you love it?" she asked. "More than Mama? More than Sapel?"

"This conversation is becoming a bit confrontational, T'Larin—"

"More than me?" She leaned in close to him, commanding an answer.

Spock was silent for a long moment. "I _would_ have loved you, T'Larin, as I love your mother and brother. But I never had the chance."

"Papa, do you love me more than Mama?" the young woman demanded. "Would you choose me over Mama?"

Spock was taken aback at his daughter's question and didn't quite know how to answer it. "I fail to see where this line of questioning is going, T'Larin," he retorted.

She sat back, sad and with an expression that held just a hint of satisfaction. "But you have chosen me over Mama," she said softly. "You will not let me go. You have forsaken your wife to mourn for a daughter who will never be."

Spock caught his breath. "I do not—"

"I am dead, Papa. I live only in your mind. What you see before you has been conjured whole from your wishes and dreams." The beautiful woman leaned toward him, desirable, perfect, unattainable. "I am your fantasy child. Even if I had lived, I would not become this. Banish me away and return to reality."

She laid a spectral hand on his knee. "She needs you, Papa. She loves you. Let me go and remember only the infant that was, not the woman who might have been. Your preoccupation with me is unnatural and unhealthy. Banish it. You have mourned and sought to change what is. That cannot be."

Her beautiful face was peaceful as she straightened and began to fade away into the night. "Mourning is over, Papa. Return to life. Let your love for Mama and Sapel come back to the fore. It's time to go on with your life. _Kai'idth_."

Then she was gone and Spock knew that she would never return. Before he realized what was happening, tears filled his eyes and coursed down his cheeks. "T'Larin," he murmured and at long last wept cleansing tears for the tiny baby who had lived and died in his arms. Burying his face in his hands, he poured out his pent-up grief for her, his shoulders shaking with deep, wracking sobs. Not the hysterical howls of denial and rage that had torn his mind and heart from him, but true mourning, washing his soul clean.

When at last his tears abated, Spock felt as if he had emptied his whole being of a terrible burden. He was exhausted and in need of fulfilling sleep, but he felt free from the terrible load he had borne for so long. That part of him was whole again, or mostly so. There would always be a gap in his heart that T'Larin should have filled, but the hurt would ease in time. She could soar free now as well, for he had truly released her katra back into the Unity of things.

Spock wiped his eyes and nose, taking a deep breath of the frosty air. Looking back up to the heavens, he noticed a star that he hadn't seen before, one burning with sapphire brilliance against the blackness. "Goodbye, little one," he whispered aloud to the night sky. "Thank you."

* * *

Christine rose from putting early spring flowers on the little cairn underneath the willow tree. She wiped away a tear, then turned purposefully to the task at hand, determined not to allow her sorrow to overwhelm her. She didn't have time for it. There was too much to do.

Catching up her bow, she called to Sapel and the two of them set out across the high ground to the south, eyes alert for game. There still wasn't much, this early in the year, but within an hour or so, both of them had bagged a hare, still in its white winter coat and out enjoying the sunshine and warmth. They were lean and a little stringy, but Christine had a use for them anyway.

Cut up and cleaned, the meat would go into a stew of dried vegetables and herbs. And the matching white pelts would be perfect to make a new pair of warm leggings for Sapel.

They were coming back down the bluff to their valley home when Mooch shot ahead of them, her fur standing on end and her high, ferocious growl sounding at full cry. It only took Christine a moment to see what she was after.

Digging busily at the dirt beneath their reinforced door guard was a creature a bit larger than Mooch, long and supple and predatory-looking. It was like a badger, more than anything else, powerful and muscular. It had obviously smelled the food that was stored within the cave and was determined to get it.

Outrage exploded within Christine. She had worked long and hard to get that food and she was determined that it was not going to be stolen by a thieving opportunist. Dropping the hare she carried, she gave a yell and charged down the slope, clutching her hunting spear.

"Yi!!! Get away from there!!" she bellowed, her yell mingling with Mooch's sharp yips and growls as she lunged and snapped at the intruder. It whirled to face her with a roar, but then Christine was on it, poking it with her spear and shouting to drive it away.

The badger charged her, snarling its aggression with open mouth, but Christine refused to be deterred. The wolf's attack had changed her fundamentally and never again would she be bested by an animal if she could kill it first. Her tactics changed instantly as she saw that the badger refused to back down.

With a primal cry, Christine pressed the attack while Mooch harried the badger from behind, seizing it by a back leg and hanging on savagely. The badger swung to counterattack and Christine took the opportunity to thrust her spear deep into the predator's ribs, pinning it to the ground.

It screeched and fought hard to free itself, but it was too late. The spear had pierced vital organs and a moment later it stilled and lay dead.

Christine straightened, sweat streaming down her face, her breath coming hard. Sapel ran up and threw his arms around her, staring down at the dead badger. Mooch continued to worry the animal's leg, growling loudly, then finally turned loose and sat peering up at her young master as if to say, "There! What do you think of that?!"

The woman looked down at her son and ruffled his hair. "Well, _that's_ one that won't be raiding our cupboard, hmm?"

She pulled the spear free of the furry body. "We'll save the pelt but won't eat this thing. Too rank. You clean those hares and I'll take care of skinning this..." She indicated the badger. "Looks like you'll get a new fur hood as well as leggings!"

Sapel grinned ferally up at her, his eyes shining as he stood proudly next to the tall, strong woman beside him.

* * *

Two more days and nights had passed and still Spock remained deep within the healing meditation of _kae'kh't'kotal_. He was unaware of the passing of time now, locked so far within his mind that he seemed to have divorced himself from this world completely. He was in another place, another time, and the events that occurred there had nothing at all to do with the physical plane on which he resided.

In his mental world, he was currently reclined on cushions of rich velvet in the palace of Stellhin, warrior king of Llangon Protectorate, and current Holder of House da'Ni'ikhirch. The time was a dozen generations before Surak appeared and the atmosphere was one of wealth and brutality. Stellhin ruled this part of Vulcan with a fist of iron, taking what he wanted and residing in lavish splendor on the slopes of Mt. Seleya, his ramparts overlooking the tiny village of ShiKahr and the valley that sloped out onto the white blistering desolation that Earthmen would one day name Vulcan's Forge.

Spock was not thinking of the Forge right now or that its proper name was Sas-a-Shar. Bleaching Bones. At the moment he was watching the lithe turnings of a near-naked girl, dancing to the sounds of pipes and _ka'athyra_ , veils flying, waist-length black hair like a garment in and of itself, glossy as a _sintha_ wing in the reflected lights. Beside him reclined his host, Stellhin himself, going over his teeth with an ivory toothpick and alternately shifting his eyes from Spock to the girl and back again.

"You like her, hmm?" Stellhin asked in a deep voice.

"She is very beautiful," Spock admitted, uncomfortably aware of the growing level of arousal he was already feeling.

"You want to fuck her?"

Spock turned to face his ancestor. Stellhin's black eyes were glittering with humor, locked appraisingly on his distant descendant's features. "I cannot do that," Spock answered in a reasonable tone. "I am bonded to another."

"I didn't ask you to _bond_ her. I asked if you want to _fuck_ her."

"No," Spock answered matter-of-factly and turned away from the large, powerful man beside him.

"Why?" pressed Stellhin. "Girls not your liking? If you'd rather fuck boys, I can find a kitchen lad for you."

Spock looked back at him, his brows coming down in annoyance over his dark eyes. "I have no desire to engage in sexual intercourse with either," he stated.

Stellhin eyed him speculatively. "Can't get it up? Is that it? Or do you have religious vows to observe?"

"My lord, I am quite capable of performing sexually, but I do not wish to do so! I told you. I am bonded and I wish only to share intercourse with my wife."

Stellhin shrugged and picked his teeth some more. "Suit yourself. Strange one, you are, Spock. Never met a man who'd pass up a chance to get his rod in _q'vazia_ cunt."

Spock wasn't sure what _q'vazia_ was. The word was lost in antiquity and he'd never heard it before. If the ruler was referring to the dancing girl before them, then Spock agreed fully that she was beautiful and radiated sexuality, but he refused to acknowledge the tightness he was feeling in his groin at the moment.

Then the scene changed around him and the main hall became a sleeping chamber with pillows and soft pallets on the floor. Draperies hid the windows and doors, an oil lamp suspended on a chain from the ceiling providing the only light. Spock found himself lying on one of the pallet beds, naked, his lower body covered with a silky sheet. It shocked him and he was just starting to get to his feet when one of the curtains was pulled back and the dancer entered the dimly lit room.

She was dressed in a diaphanous robe, her long black hair loose about her shoulders. "I am T'Sula," she said in a soft warm voice as she paused and looked down at him. "I have been commanded to please you tonight."

Spock was having a hard time not staring at the lush body beneath the robe, its sheer folds leaving nothing to the imagination. He forced his eyes up to her face. "Please thank Lord Stellhin but I do not require companionship."

She acted as if she had not heard him. Instead, she opened the robe and allowed it to slip off her shoulders, leaving her totally naked before him. "What is your pleasure, lord? I am versed in all phases of _Si'po'vaz_."

Spock's eyebrows shot up, as much from the jolt of excitement he had abruptly felt as from the recognition of the name she spoke. It was an ancient holy text, said to contain innumerable forms of sexuality. Legend related that the practice of the actions described there led to such a heightened emotional and sexual state that it had been banned by Surak himself. And now Spock translated the title _q'vazia_. It meant Teacher of Form, in literal terms, but more loosely translated, it meant sex personified.

T'Sula was a palace prostitute, her whole life devoted to satisfying her sexual partners.

The realization triggered an immediate surge of hormones through Spock's system and he found himself coming rapidly and fervently erect. He shifted, attempting to hide the fact from the woman still standing beside his bed.

But she was aware nonetheless. She did not have to see his stiffening penis to know what he was feeling. His whole skin tone blushed green and his breathing deepened imperceptibly. She smiled and lowered herself onto the bed, kneeling beside him.

"What is your command, lord? How shall I fulfill you? Tell me your fantasy and I shall embody it."

Spock swallowed to wet his dry throat. "I have told you. I wish no sexual partner here. I am bonded and may only have relations with my wife."

"Very well." T'Sula changed her position. Shifting to sit cross-legged, she settled into a comfortable stance. "Tell me of this remarkable woman then. I wish to hear of her."

Her position fully exposed her genitals, however, and Spock found it difficult to keep his eyes from darting between her spread legs to the luscious beaconing folds of her sex. "Cover yourself first, T'Sula," he instructed, looking away. "It is not proper that you should sit like this with me."

"Very well, lord, if you do not wish to see me." She reached behind her and retrieved her robe, slipping into it and using its volume to hide her torso. He was still intensely aware of her naked body beneath the thin material, but at least now he was not so distracted by the expanse of inviting skin. His whole body throbbed with the knowledge that all he had to do was roll over onto her, between her spread legs, and jam himself into her—

Spock abruptly shut down that line of thought and concentrated on deflating the turgid organ that demanded so much attention at the moment. Then, feeling a soft hand on his leg, his eyes snapped open to find T'Sula peering at him with great, dark eyes.

"Let me please you, lord," she said imploringly. "You are in need and I can relieve you of your tension and urgency."

"If you won't leave me, then do not touch me," he answered, frowning.

"Very well." She sat back, her hands folded in her lap. "You were about to speak of your wife. What is her name?"

He gulped again and got himself somewhat under control. "She is called Christine," he said.

"A strange name."

"She is not from our land. She comes from very far away," he replied. Spock began to talk about Christine, what she looked like, how they met, their life on Terra Two and all the things they had been through. Before long, he had begun to tell the listening girl of their time together on the _Enterprise_ , forgetting that she should have known nothing about a starship, although she seemed to have no trouble grasping what he related. He told her how they had been kidnapped by Romulans and abandoned on the primitive planet that was now their home, how they had fallen in love, endured his _pon farr_ , become husband and wife.

He told her everything, up to and including the circumstances of T'Larin's birth and terrible death, his losing complete control of his emotions, the turbulent weeks that followed and finally his leaving on this journey. By the time he was finished, Spock was exhausted, emotionally and physically.

T'Sula moved toward him and put both hands on his bare shoulders, pushing him back onto the pallet. "You are so very tired," she murmured in a soft, caring voice. "Sleep now, lord. I will keep you warm. Nothing more unless you wish it."

Spock could not resist her. The talking had been like a catharsis and he felt drained. He allowed T'Sula to push him onto his back. He was asleep almost before he knew it.

When she was sure that he was, she took off her robe and tossed it aside, then slid under the sheet with him, moving into his semi-conscious embrace and slipping her arm across his chest. Then she nestled her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes too.

* * *

Spock rolled over in the familiar furs of his bed and found Christine snuggled against him, her sun-bleached hair spilled over her shoulders, her face close to his. Immediately, his heart leapt with joy to find her there and he didn't question how he had come to be home again or whether or not this had all been a dream. He only knew that he was jolted with fierce love and need for her.

Pulling her against him, he kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth, until her dark-lashed lids lifted to peer up at him. Her eyes were as blue as he remembered them and a warm smile spread across her features as she drew him into her embrace.

"Spock," she whispered. "You're home! Oh, sweetheart, I missed you so much!"

He couldn't speak, but covered her mouth with his in a desperate kiss, letting all the pent up passion and loneliness he had felt pour out of him. Crushing her lush, warm body against his, he felt himself grow hard with his unsatisfied hunger for her.

"Christine!" he murmured against her lips, devouring them with famished kisses. " _T'hy'la!_ You don't know how much I've wanted to be back here with you! How many nights I've spent thinking of you! Needing to be with you!"

She writhed and moaned against him, growing as excited as he. "You're home now, darling!" she answered between frantic kisses. "All I've done is dream of you and how good it feels when you're inside me! Oh, please, Spock! I can't wait a minute longer! I want you so much! I need you to make love to me now!"

Her words jarred him into a higher level of arousal, one he could barely control. His erection throbbed almost painfully in his eagerness to plunge into her hot depths, thrusting and pounding into her until she exploded with rapture and he matched her with his own overwhelming climactic eruption. Quickly moving atop her, he settled between her spread thighs and prepared to enter her, bending down to kiss her once more as he did so.

Something about her seemed different and he opened his eyes to look down at her. Black, Vulcan eyes, upturned and exotic, peered back at him, T'Sula's beautiful face only inches from his.

Spock gave an involuntary cry and scrambled off her. "You! Where is Christine?"

T'Sula sat up, her long ebony hair falling around her dark-tipped breasts. "Didn't I tell you I would become your fantasy?" she asked, seeming puzzled. "Is an eager, subservient wife not what you want? I became her for you."

Spock moved farther away, grabbing the woman's discarded robe to cover himself. "How dare you presume to enter my mind that way! This is a violation of all that is private! How dare you invade the sanctity of a marital bond!"

He was clearly outraged but she only sat back on the bed pallet, leaning back on her hands, either oblivious to how this displayed her body or doing it on purpose. "I did not think it mattered to you, as long as you reached a sexual climax," she answered. "I came to offer you a willing partner so that you would not have to force yourself on your wife again."

Spock's mouth fell open then shut soundlessly, so stunned was he by this comment. When he could speak again, his voice was rough and angry. "You will be silent!" he ordered, all his Vulcan male assertion coming to the fore. "This is not for you to speak! You do not what you say!"

"I know all about you, Spock," she answered reasonably. "I am part of you."

He shook his head. "You are no part of me," he retorted. "You are a temple whore from the distant past."

T'Sula's eyes twinkled in amusement. "Yes. And the mother of one of Stellhin's sons. I am one of your Ancestors, too, Spock. Your great, great, many, many times great grandmother. My blood flows in you as well as the others who have come to you."

That dealt him another mental blow. "You knew I was of your lineage and you actively tried to entice me into having sex with you?" His stomach lurched at the act of incest he had nearly committed.

But T'Sula only laughed merrily. "Oh, come now, Spock. None of this is real. And anyway, it is my purpose. As you said, I'm a temple whore. It makes no difference to me whether the man who lies with me is a complete stranger or a son of the Line. I have lain with many of my sons and grandsons, initiating them into the ways of life."

He moaned and buried his face in his hands.

She pressed him. "Do not the _reldai_ still serve this purpose in your time? Did you not go to them during your Awakening?"

"Yes, but..."

"But, nothing, Spock. That is their purpose in Vulcan society. This is _my_ purpose in my society. In any case, the subject here is not me." She leaned forward and said, "The subject here is the difference between a willing partner and one who is not willing. And the way you took your wife when she was not willing and compelled her to serve you."

Spock looked up, stricken. "I was not myself."

"You cannot use Asakar as an excuse," she told him.

He blinked. "How do you know Asakar?" he wondered.

"We are all part of your _katra_ , Spock. We all know one another."

"And a bossy bitch you are, too!" came the barbarian's harsh voice. He was squatting next to the dancer, his rough appearance making a sharp contrast to her sleek, satin-rich features. "What do you expect a man to do when he needs relief? Especially in Spock's case when there aren't any other women available? A man shouldn't have to stand alone and yank himself 'til he squirts!"

"Asakar, shut your filthy mouth!" snapped T'Oman, appearing on the other side of Spock. She was seated cross-legged on one of the cushions, her wrinkled face stern. "Just because you come from a savage time doesn't give you any leave to speak so offensively!"

"Indeed," commented Surak, himself fading into view beside T'Oman. "I had the impression that I had banished you."

"You can't banish me," Asakar sneered back, "you weak-spined _t'q'valla_! Only Spock can do that and he knows that he cannot survive without me!"

"You bring shame to all of us," T'Oman answered back. "What a dirty, ill-mannered—"

"Shut your yap, woman! If you spoke to me like that in my day, I'd beat you green! No man should tolerate a woman who—"

"No _woman_ should tolerate a man—" T'Sula cut in shrilly.

"We will get nothing settled—" broke in Surak, his voice rising to be heard above the others.

"Beat me, would you?! I'll call your Mam and she'll—"

"Asakar, you just need a good—"

"I insist that you all stop this senseless—"

"Old or no, I'll—"

" _Kroykah!!_ " Spock shouted, the ancient command instantly silencing them all. He was breathing heavily, struggling to regain his control. "Shut up! All of you! I will banish _all_ of you if this arguing does not cease at once!"

The circle of Ancestors sat silently, watching him. Clearly the ball was now back in his court. He straightened and rearranged his sparse covering. "That is better." He looked from one to the others. "You are the reason I cannot think and keep my life in order! All of you! Each one of you is attempting to rip me from the others and control me, along with who knows how many others! No more! This bedlam will go no further!"

He turned his angry gaze on his oldest Ancestor. "Asakar, I have banished you once already. You apparently do not understand that I am not a barbarian and I will not follow your ways. I acknowledge that some of what you have offered me is of benefit, but not this. Begone!"

The image of the ancient Vulcan warrior disappeared as if he had never existed. Spock turned to the others. "My Father Surak, you know that I revere and follow you, but you are merely the opposite pole from Asakar, as controlled and correct as he is wild and filled with anarchy. I cannot live my life either way. I ask that you return to that place within me where your wisdom can be of most benefit to me."

"Very well, Spock. My wish for you is that you find your way back to the path you should walk." The serene figure disappeared as well, leaving the two very different women before him, the lithe, seductive dancer and the bent, wizened old crone.

Spock sighed and looked back and forth between them. "T'Sula, you will go as well. Your presence here serves only to distract and confuse me. Leave ... and take this harem with you!"

Without another word, T'Sula vanished and Spock found himself instantly back in the little rock shelter on the side of the mountain, dressed in his winter clothing and wrapped in the heavy sleeping fur. T'Oman still sat beside him, heedless of the cold wind that whipped around them.

"I understand now, Grandmother," he said to her. "All of you, even _you_ , have been wreaking havoc with my mental processes since the day of T'Larin's birth and death. I _did_ lose control that day because my fear and anger was so great, then I was overwhelmed with sorrow at the death of my child. It was like the Terran myth of Pandora's Box. Once you were all released, I could not put you back."

"Yes," T'Oman answered, watching his face. "And have you done so now, Spock?"

"All but you, Grandmother. I still find your counsel helpful."

"And what counsel would you have of this old woman?" she asked.

He sighed and looked a bit lost. "I need to know, Grandmother," he pleaded. "Can I get her back? I have damaged her esteem and pride. I have very nearly destroyed all the trust she had in me. And not only Christine, but my son, too. I am almost afraid to return to them, for fear of how they will reject me."

The old woman allowed the corners of her mouth to stretch just a little in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "Spock, your Christine is a proud, strong, intelligent woman. She is willing to stand by you as your bondmate and friend. But she is deeply hurt. You took the death of your child very hard, but a woman takes such a thing even harder. A woman carries her baby next to her heart for long, increasingly difficult months. That child is a part of her as it can never be to a man, for she nourishes it with her own blood, feels it move and grow in her very core, goes through searing agony to bring it forth into the world. Then she gives it suck of her body's sustenance, keeps it safe, watches it grow and learn, and is finally torn apart again as it leaves her."

Spock hung his head. T'Oman continued, "When a woman is within such a vulnerable time, she depends on her bonded mate to be her support, to put his arms around her and help her stand against the storm, to love her and shelter her and make her feel safe. Spock, you turned your back on Christine when she needed you the most. It is little wonder that ultimately she turned you away and resented it so deeply when you used your strength to overpower her and take what you wanted, regardless of her feelings."

"I know, Grandmother," he whispered, still looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

"You must go home now, Spock. If you must, humble yourself to the point of kneeling before her and begging her forgiveness. She must know that you are truly and with all your heart sorry and that you want her back. She must learn to trust you again and believe that you will stay by her, no matter what comes." The old woman straightened her back and looked hard at her descendant. "And not only Christine. Your son must regain his trust in you as well. It may not be so easy with him. A child's innocence, once broken, is rarely able to be mended fully. There will always be that doubt in him that you will go away and leave him again. You can only repair this damage by standing steadfast in Sapel's life, until he can trust you once again."

"Yes, Grandmother," Spock answered in a small voice. "I have wronged them both."

And now T'Oman reached out and stroked her hand along the back of his head. "Having said that, Spock, know that this was not entirely your fault. You suffered through a crushing emotional event, one that would shake even the most stalwart of men. On Vulcan, you would have immediately been attended by physicians and mind-healers, but you had no such guidance here. It was necessary for us to come to you like this so that we might serve that purpose. I sense that you have come back to yourself, Spock. Your healing is nearly done. Go home now and return to Christine and Sapel the husband and father they have known you to be."

"Yes, Grandmother," he responded, lifting his head to look at her. "I will not forget you."

Her brows lifted in amusement. "I'm not going anywhere, Spock. I'll always be right here." And she tapped her fingertips on his chest. "Sleep now, child. Your journey tomorrow is long."

She lifted her gnarled hand to Spock's forehead and lightly touched his skin. His eyes closed at once and he slumped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Spock next opened his eyes, it was morning. The sun was just breaking over the mountain peaks, reflecting brilliantly off the remaining snow and nearly blinding him. Overhead, the sky was already the clear blue of an early spring day and in the air he could smell the fresh bursting fragrance of newly budded greenery.

Spock stood and took a deep breath of the morning air, feeling new born or as if he had been in a deep impenetrable sleep for weeks and had just fully awakened. He had no idea how many days and nights he had spent on the mountainside, but he was famished and smelled atrociously and ice crystals dangled on his moustache and scraggly beard. His mouth tasted foul and his clothing reeked from being worn constantly day after day.

He felt marvelous! So marvelous that he did the very unVulcan-like thing of laughing out loud with joy and lifting his hands to the heavens. He was whole and himself again.

The thought of home and family seized him and he hurriedly turned to get his gear together, pulling out jerky and journey bread to munch on the way. It took him only about half an hour, then he set out down the slope, resisting the urge to break into a run to get to the long plains and home.

* * *

It had been another long day. Christine and Sapel had been up at the crack of dawn and had worked the entire day tilling over their garden plot, readying it for the spring planting. With nothing but crude hoes, they had laboriously chopped grass and weeds loose, turned over the soil to break up clumps, and worked in the dried animal dung they had been collecting for the past week. The garden wasn't very big, but by the time they had finished, the sun was on the western horizon and both of them were completely exhausted.

Christine's day wasn't finished, though. Sending Sapel to store away the gardening tools and to wash up for supper, she wearily made her way across the creek and up the slope to the brush pile, pausing at the water to wash the worst of the grime from her hands. They still had a bit of firewood left but had run out of tinder. She had begun to utilize the seasoned wood piled across the way and she went there now to bring back an armload of kindling.

She was gathering up a hefty pile of sticks and small branches, thinking about what she had for them to eat that night. A little grain was left; she would grind it and make bread. There was enough stew left over from the previous day that she could stretch it for another meal. She would add some dried meat to it and the tuber or two that she had left. The winter supplies were nearly gone and she was going to have to give some serious thought to a hunting trip. Game was just beginning to come back into the area, but she thought she could find an antelope fawn or newborn colt that she could kill for them. That would tide them over for a few more days.

Her thoughts were turning over plans when her peripheral vision picked up a movement. Jerking her head around, she stared hard into the evening shadows, trying to see through the twilight gloom. At first, she could not see what had caught her attention, then an upright figure came into view, still some distance away, but walking toward her with a steady purpose that caused her heart to nearly stop in its cadence.

"Spock!" she gasped and dropped the wood as a wave of weakness swept over her. Then she said louder, "Spock!" and began to run toward him. "Spock!! Spock!!"

The man stepped up his pace but was obviously too exhausted to go much faster, burdened as he was by the pack and camp gear. Nevertheless, he was going at a trot when Christine met him and threw herself into his arms, tears streaming down her face, kissing him in frantic welcome. He returned it full measure, nearly crushing her as he lifted her off her feet and smothered her face with heart-felt kisses, saying her name over and over, their lips meeting again and again. Finally, she simply threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, all her relief and pent-up emotion coming out in uncontrollable sobs.

He held her close, speaking soothingly to her now, savoring the wonderful feel of her warm, sturdy body in his arms once again. "Shhh ... shhhh..." he murmured into her hair. "It's all right. It's all over. Everything will be fine now."

She pulled away and wiped her face, her eyes drinking in his features. "Are you well again? Did the ritual work?"

"Yes. I am quite myself again," he assured her, himself unable to tear his gaze from her face. "I missed you so much, _t'hy'la_."

She laughed a little, still leaking tears. "You smell like a rhinoceros! When was the last time you had a bath?!"

He smiled, too, an unselfconscious grin of delight that she had seldom seen light his face. "I don't remember," he admitted, his teeth showing in the midst of his dirty beard and moustache. "Long before I left here. How long have I been gone?"

"Over two months. Phew! No wonder you reek! Well, I think the first order of business for you is a good hot bath." She wiped the rest of her tears away. "Are you hungry?"

"Absolutely famished! I don't care if I never see another piece of dried venison or journey bread again!" His dark eyes were twinkling with life and humor.

Christine couldn't help pausing to stare up at her long-lost husband. It seemed an eternity since she had seen him look so well and she was very happy to have him back home again. She just wished she still didn't feel such resentment and buried anger toward him. She tried to shove that down. "I wish I had more to offer you than some left over stew and flatbread."

Spock's face softened. "It sounds marvelous," he said.

They started back toward the familiar little valley and Christine stopped for a moment to pick up the wood she had dropped. Even before that, Spock couldn't help but notice that she walked just far enough away from him to avoid touching him in any way, even to holding his hand. Their mindbond had been fairly dormant for some time but he could still detect her ambivalent feelings as they walked. She also kept her gaze on the trail ahead, not looking at him, and inwardly he sighed. After her enthusiastic greeting, her mental and emotional barrier had come back up between them. Well, he knew this wasn't going to be easy, he reflected to himself. He would just have to take it slowly and one step at a time. With this in mind, he followed her down the little slope to the creek crossing.

* * *

Sapel looked up and then leaped to his feet in shock as his mother stepped into the cave followed by a tall, dirty, bedraggled man.

"Papa!" he gasped. Mooch gave a startled yip, then stood on her hind legs and sniffed speculatively in Spock's direction, both recognizing him and not.

Spock simply stood in the entryway as he and his son took in each other. The boy seemed to have grown taller during the time he was gone and there was a new maturity in the child's face that hadn't been there when he had left.

"Hello, Sapel," Spock said softly. "Do I not get a better greeting than that?" he asked in a hopeful tone. Sapel came forward, almost reluctantly, and put his arms around his father's waist, hugging him for a moment. Spock wanted to hold his son hard in his arms and feel again the unconditional love the boy had once awarded him, but he sensed that Sapel was not ready to do that yet. He didn't press him.

Sapel stepped back. "You stink, Papa!"

"Yes, so I have been informed," Spock answered, glancing wryly at Christine. He turned to her. "If I may, I'll store my gear over in that corner and get out of these clothes. I suspect they may have to be burned. They are rather the worse for wear."

"I may be able to salvage them," Christine answered, "although they will definitely need to be soaked and boiled. Leave them outside, though. I don't want them smelling up the place or bringing in any passengers you might have acquired along the way." She was already having horrible visions of being invaded by lice ... or the local equivalents. "Meanwhile, I'll put water on to heat for you and find the soap."

"Would you prefer that I wash down at the pond?" he asked, starting out through the doorway.

"The water's too cold yet. You'd develop pneumonia! No, just strip off and you can scrub yourself down over there. Here's a fur to wrap yourself in."

Spock nodded and went outside. After he had gone, Sapel looked up at his mother, his face betraying the guilt he was experiencing. "I'm glad he's home," he said in a speculative tone, fishing for his mother's feelings on the matter.

"So am I," she answered. "Papa says he's all well again. I truly hope so. Maybe we can get back to being a family again."

Sapel nodded. "You want me to fetch some water or anything?"

"No, we have enough in the water bags. You'll have to in the morning, though. Did you wash up like I told you to?"

"Yes, ma'am. You want me to cut up some vegetables for you?"

Christine smiled. "That would be very nice, Sapel. Thank you." She ruffled his dark hair and set him to work scraping and then cutting the tubers she planned to add to their leftover stew. While he did so, she set her griddle stone by the fire to heat and then got out her grinding stone, beginning to mill some of their grass grain into rough flour. She would mix it with water and cook flat, unleavened bread similar to pancakes.

While preparations for supper were underway, Spock came back in, wearing only the fur wrap around his middle. Checking the simmering water, he decided it was hot enough and moved it away from the fire, kneeling down in the semi-darkness of his sleeping corner to begin scrubbing away the layers of filth he had acquired. He kept himself a prudent distance away from the kitchen area as he did so, admitting to himself that he was pretty rank after his long period of going unwashed.

It took more than one basin of water to penetrate the grime. When the bathwater would become dirty, he would toss it out and set clean water to heating. Slowly, the healthy, slightly verdant flush of clean Vulcan skin began to emerge as he soaped and scoured.

Midway through, Christine brought him a bowl of stew and some bread, which he accepted gratefully, eating as if he hadn't had a meal in days. She sat with him and watched him eat, bemused. He had lost a lot of weight during his journey. Always lean, now he was downright thin, almost to the point of being skeletal, but she was confident the weight would begin to come back soon.

"Was it difficult?" she asked softly, hugging her updrawn knees to her.

"Yes. At times it was very difficult," he answered, sopping up soup with bread. "I'm not sure how to explain to you what it was like. Perhaps the best way to share the experience with you would be a mind meld."

She didn't answer and he looked up to meet her eyes. There was a slightly wary, withdrawn look to them. "I did not mean to presume too far on our relationship," he said in a rough whisper, distressed as well. "Christine, I know things are still very strained between us. I hope that I can begin to put that right and reclaim your love."

She looked away quickly. "Don't be ridiculous, Spock," she answered dismissively. "You know I love you."

He reached out and took her hand, causing her to jerk back around to face him, something almost like fear in her eyes. "Do you, Christine?" he whispered. "Perhaps ... but you do not trust me any longer." Their gazes held for a long moment. "Please... let me regain that trust."

She searched his face then answered, "I'll try, Spock. Just give me some time, okay?" He nodded mutely and released her hand. She sniffed back incipient tears and asked, "Are you finished with your supper? Want some more?"

"I'm finished. Thank you," he replied, handing her the bowl. "It was absolutely delicious."

"Just stew," she answered and got to her feet. "I'll be back in a minute and wash your back for you. There are places you never could reach."

Spock smiled in spite of himself. "I would welcome your help!" Watching her walk back to the other side of the fire, his heart constricted with love and sorrow for this woman and all that she meant to him.

His gaze shifted to rest on Sapel, sitting with his back against the opposite wall and watching his father closely. The boy was eating his own supper and feeding Mooch tidbits as he did so, but his eyes never left Spock and there was a wary speculative expression in them that bespoke of a child's shattered trust in a parent.

Spock sighed and turned back to finishing his bath.

* * *

Christine lay tensed as she felt Spock kneel down beside her. He was silent for a moment then asked softly, "Christine? Would you allow me to sleep with you tonight?" She didn't answer and he added, "I promise I will ask nothing else of you. I simply want to be near you tonight."

She closed her eyes then replied, "All right."

He slipped under the furs beside her and she could feel the heat of his body as he settled next to her, but not touching. "Thank you," he whispered. He desperately longed to reach out to her, to hold her in his arms, but did not dare do so. The peace between them was still too fragile for that.

For a long time neither said anything, the tension between them too tangible to allow them to sleep. Christine was teetering on the edge of tears, her emotional state all too obvious to him. Taking a deep breath, Spock said in a quiet voice, "Tell me how I can make this up to you, Christine. How to put things right between us. I will do anything for you. Anything."

She squeezed her eyes shut and the tears began to roll down her cheeks. "Turn back time and keep it all from happening," she answered in a choked voice. She covered her face with her hands and her shoulders began to shake.

He reached out instinctively then halted himself, still unsure. "If I could do so, I would," he answered sincerely. "I would make it all right for you. I would never allow you to be hurt the way you have been."

"The way _you_ hurt me!" she said in a biting tone.

It stabbed him deep and he hung his head in shame. "Yes. The way I hurt you. It was never intentional. You must believe that. I had no control over myself ... over my actions."

Christine sobbed softly and asked in a broken voice, "Do you have any idea the hell I have gone through for the past few months? Trying to keep us going through the winter? Trying to keep food in our bellies and the wolf literally away from the door?" Her face contorted again as the stress and sorrow began to overwhelm her. "Try ... trying to ... hang on by my ... fingernails and not go stark raving mad?!"

"And you have done a job that would have broken anyone with less strength and determination," he soothed her. This time he _did_ lay his hand on her shoulder and was pleased when she did not shrug it off. He took the chance of scooting a little closer and lightly slipping his arm around her waist, drawing her gently against him.

She didn't seem to notice. "I'm about at my wit's end, Spock!" she sniffed raggedly. "I don't think I can take it much longer."

"You don't have to, beloved," he answered against her hair. "You can rest now. You need not do anything until you wish to do it. Simply relax and recuperate. Spring is in full bloom and I know you have always enjoyed seeing things burst into life again."

That caused a fresh outbreak of tears. "Oh, Spock, do you realize that it was just at this time last year that I became pregnant with T'Larin? Oh, my baby!" She broke down, her grief at last finding a break in the dam and pouring through the breach. "Oh, God! I want my baby back!"

His heart breaking as well, Spock turned her to face him and drew her into his arms, simply holding her and providing the support she needed. He said nothing more, but sent comforting emotions through their withered bondlink, feeling it slowly, hesitantly stir with energy once again. It was still far from the level of empathy they had shared, but at least she wasn't rejecting him.

After a long time, Christine quieted and her breathing evened out. Spock understood that she had slipped into an exhausted slumber and at last he allowed himself to fall asleep as well, his arms still around her.

* * *

Christine woke alone in her bed, just as she had done every morning for weeks. It was far past dawn, the light coming in through the open doorway strong but still holding the freshness of early morning. She raised herself up and looked around the cave but Sapel had already gotten up and left the cave. Perhaps he'd gone down to the toilet area by the creek. He'd been growing less and less afraid as the days passed and was venturing out a bit more.

As she began to rouse herself from sleep, she became aware of a delicious odor. A cup of steaming herb tea was sitting beside the bed, along with hot griddle cakes and honey on a wooden trencher. Then, unbidden, she smiled in delight. A couple of tiny violet flowers were lying atop the cakes.

Spock came in carrying an armload of firewood. "Ah, good. I was afraid you wouldn't wake up while your breakfast was still hot."

"You did this?" she asked incredulously, gazing up at him.

"I thought you deserved breakfast in bed for a change," he answered, dropping the wood onto the kindling pile. "If it is not to your liking, I will attempt to make you something else."

Christine couldn't suppress a laugh. "Okay. I'll have crepes with fresh strawberries and cream, fresh squeezed orange juice, melon balls, a poached egg, and a pot of fresh coffee."

Spock crossed his arms and looked down at her indulgently. "I shall forward your order to the kitchen. Room service should have it here in ... oh ... a few years? If we're lucky. If not, then you will simply have to make do with my cooking."

She chuckled. "Oh, well..." She took the trencher onto her lap and dipped one of the griddle cakes in honey. "Have you and Sapel eaten?" she asked, bringing it to her lips while trying to contain the drops of golden liquid oozing from the bread.

"Yes, some time ago." He settled down cross-legged beside her, retrieving the little flowers and gently twirling them between his fingers. "I had hoped to find something more than these," he said. "However, most of the flowers are not yet blooming."

"Spock, this is so sweet of you," she replied. "You didn't have to do this."

"On the contrary. I would bring you bouquets of roses if I could find any."

Suddenly embarrassed, she looked down at her breakfast. "You've been busy already this morning," she said.

"Yes. You have worked far too hard while I took my leave," he answered seriously. "Now it is your turn to rest and regain your health. You are henceforth on vacation. That's an order."

She looked up, her eyes sharp. "An order," she repeated.

"I apologize. I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he answered in a placating tone. "I merely meant that I want you to promise me that you'll take it easy for at least the next two weeks. Longer if you feel that you need it. I will do everything that needs doing."

"I apologize, too, Spock," she replied. "I'm just very touchy. I'll be honest. My nerves are shot."

"I understand," he said softly. "Mine were much the same. You gave me the time to regain my composure — for which I am immeasurably grateful — and I want you to have the same opportunity. Now, please, enjoy your breakfast. Do not feel obligated to do anything at all today. Sleep. Take a walk. Whatever you like." He got to his feet. "There is more wood that needs chopping and I must get back to that task. Please call me if you need anything."

"All right. Where is Sapel?"

"He is with me," Spock answered and a slightly troubled expression passed over his face. "Not happily, I confess, but I have much to make up to him and I can only do so if he spends time with me."

"He feels like you abandoned him, you know," Christine replied, looking up at him.

"I know. I experienced something of the same thing with my own father. I hope that this will allow me to open a pathway of communication with him." Spock sighed lightly. "I won't be far away. Shout if you need me."

She nodded and watched him duck underneath the doorway. Bemused, she turned back to her breakfast, pausing to take up the little violets and inhale their delicate fragrance. Despite herself, she felt a note of love for the Vulcan sing through her heart. She only wished she could trust him again the way she had for so long.

* * *

With careful steps, Sapel crept through the underbrush of the forest, his eyes locked on his prey. Spock hung back, watching him in amazement. The boy had become an accomplished hunter in the time he'd been gone.

Now Sapel froze into immobility for a long moment then slowly raised his bow, the arrow already nocked, and took aim at a spot in the branches of the trees. Again he paused then abruptly let fly and was running to the spot where his target would drop, almost before the arrow had a chance to find its mark.

There was a high squeal, then something hit the ground and Sapel was on it, his knife out and flashing. Spock hurried to the scene, but the boy had already dispatched the tree leaper he'd been stalking and was cleaning his obsidian knife blade with leaf litter.

"Very impressive!" Spock complimented the child. "That's the second one you've bagged."

Sapel didn't look up as he placed his kill in his carry pouch. "You're too big," he answered a bit sullenly. "They see you coming."

"Perhaps," his father admitted, although with a touch of displeasure at the boy's tone. "When did you learn to hunt so well?"

Sapel cut his eyes up sharply at the man bending over him. "When do you think, Papa? You made me the man of the family, remember? Who else was gonna keep us fed?"

"Sapel, I understand that you resent my absence, but that tone of voice is unacceptable."

The boy, just turned four by this planet's year, but five years old on Earth or Vulcan, stood up to his full height and stared up at his tall parent. "Then why don't you leave again?" he demanded belligerently. "Mama and me don't need you! We're doing okay by ourselves!"

Spock instantly clamped a lid on the reactive outrage that sprang up in him, including the whisper of Asakar's voice that he should quite literally slap the boy to the ground for such insolence. Instead, Spock took a deep breath and answered, "I'm not leaving, Sapel. Your anger at me is valid and understandable, but I will not tolerate the disrespect you are showing me. I am your father."

The boy only glared back. "I don't need no father!" he retorted. "'Specially not one that runs off all the time!"

Clamping his teeth together, Spock felt at a loss on how to deal with this situation. He knew that Sapel harbored a deep-seated hurt and resentment toward him, but he had no idea it would be this bad. Finally, he said calmly, "As I stated, I will not leave you and your mother again. I know that you find that hard to believe at this moment, but it is true. Nor will I respond to your anger as you wish to goad me into doing. Such emotions are unproductive and illogical. They serve no purpose."

Sapel frowned. "You're trying to use your Vulcan stuff on me again."

Spock lifted an eyebrow in response. "I _am_ Vulcan. And so are you, my son."

"I'm Human! I got more Human in me than Vulcan!"

"That is true. However, you cannot deny your Vulcan heritage."

"I can if I want to!" The boy's bottom lip was beginning to quiver and he abruptly turned away. "I got hunting to do," he stated flatly and stalked away.

Sighing deeply, Spock followed him. This first outing hadn't gone well at all. He could only hope to find some way to penetrate Sapel's fury and rebuild their relationship.

* * *

Spock stood at the cave's entrance, meditatively sipping a cup of hot tea and staring out at the falling rain. It had not let up for three days now, varying from gentle drippy showers to full‑fledged thunderstorms. At the moment, it was somewhere in between, the rain coming down steadily but not exactly pouring.

Away at the head of the little valley, Spock could just see the waterfall that cascaded over the escarpment face. Usually, the gentle stream formed a quiet, soothing cascade. Now, the fall was three times the size, a torrent of brown, rushing water that thundered into the pool at its base. The pond itself was as full as Spock had ever seen it, the water ugly and choked with debris that had come over the fall. The creek was up as well, nearly out of its banks, and its swift muddy water hurtled down its winding bed toward the river a mile away.

Christine came to stand beside him, following his gaze. "I don't like the looks of that," she said. "How much higher do you think it will rise?"

Spock shook his head. "I don't know. We have never had a spring this wet and the creek has never gone out of its banks since we've been here. Obviously, though, from the shape of this valley, it has the potential to flood. The geology of the area bears that out."

"I wonder if it will get high enough to reach the cave opening," she answered.

"Again, I do not know. I had judged that this cave was formed from water running in through the roof hole there. Since we built a chimney around it, we haven't had that problem, but I may have been mistaken about it all. It is quite possible that water from the creek also had a hand in forming this cave." Spock took a sip of his tea, his brows lowered into a near frown.

Christine looked up at him. "You're worried, aren't you?" she asked softly.

Glancing down at her, he attempted to make his expression one of diffidence. "Vulcans do not worry, Christine," he told her. "I am merely gauging all the possibilities."

She shook her head. "Spock, I think your old granny woman needs to come back and kick your butt some more," she said. Spock had told her something of his experience, especially the wise counsel of T'Oman, and Christine had been taken with the idea of the elderly Vulcan.

Spock was silent for a moment, then smiled and answered, "Perhaps. All right, yes, I am worried. If the water begins to come too close, we will need to be prepared to evacuate."

Christine nodded. "I agree. I don't suppose you've ever been through a flood, have you, Spock?"

"No. That is not generally a problem on Vulcan."

"I never have either, because we lived up on a hill, well above the high water mark, but I've seen the creeks and streams around my home town flood out when it rains like this. Water like that can suck you down into it before you even realize you're in trouble." She chewed her lip, her gaze turned inward as she watched the rain pelt down harder. "Spock, I've got a really bad feeling about this. I think we ought to get ready to move as soon as we can. If the water comes up quickly during the night, we may not get the warning we need to get out."

He peered down at her, his face serious. "All right," he said finally. "I am not sanguine about premonitions or 'bad feelings', but if you feel strongly about it, then we will go ahead and leave."

"I just think we need to get to higher ground," she replied.

"Where do you think we should go?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. You know the area better than I do from all your hunting trips. I'll ... I'll trust you to think of someplace."

He didn't fail to notice her slight hesitation and something within him felt a pang of both sadness and happiness. It was a step for her to trust him again, even if it were only so far as finding them a dry place to shelter.

* * *

While they were packing, the rain slowed and stopped, punctuated by a brilliant beam of sun breaking low under the clouds. Cautiously, the three of them ventured out to check the weather and Sapel was ecstatic to discover a full arching rainbow bending over the eastern horizon.

"Mama! Look at it! It's a double!" he cried.

"So it is," she answered, taking in the spectacle. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Spock made an agreeable noise deep in his throat, but his attention was turned more to the still low hanging, dark blue clouds. "I don't believe that we've seen the last of the rain, however," he said. "I'm going up to the bluff and see how things look. This is likely just a pause before the rain sets in again."

He started off, his moccasins slipping on the muddy ground, but after a few minutes he had managed to make his way up to the top of the rise above their camp. From there, he had a good view of the surrounding few miles.

What he saw alarmed him. To the northeast, the creek that fed into their valley was completely out of its banks, water spread across the rolling prairie in a solid sheet. He could see from here, too, that their waterfall now had expanded across the entire escarpment, not heavily yet except for the main channel, but rivulets and ribbons of water now dropping on both sides of the primary fall.

To the southwest, the creek's rushing flow met the main river with force and that too had jumped its banks to spread across its flood plain for a good mile on either side. The eastern plains were partially underwater as well, all the way to the far distant tree line.

Only on the northern prairie was there any sign of dry land and that was the rock outcropping that Spock had used so often when hunting. Even surrounding it, every depression and rill that could hold water was overflowing, puddles and pools everywhere. But that was the only place he could see that might afford them the solidity of high ground.

There was one main obstacle to reaching it, though. In order to do so, they would have to cross the creek, usually a mild and friendly stream easily forded with stepping stones. Now it was a mad torrent of muddy water, treacherous and swift. But there was no other way.

Spock made his way back down to where Christine and Sapel stood before the cave entranceway. The clouds had closed back together, shutting off the sunbeam and snuffing out the rainbow. Christine could tell by her husband's expression that the news was not good.

"Spock?" she asked expectantly.

"It looks like the only way out is to the north, to the outcropping," he answered. "I can't be sure, but I believe the river is still rising. We need to go while there's still a chance of getting across the creek."

Christine glanced fearfully at the muddy stream. "I think it's too high already," she said. "Isn't there another way?"

"I doubt it," he replied. "From what I could see, this may be the only place left that is fordable." There was a low rumble of thunder and rain began to fall once more. He glanced up at the sky. "I think we should leave now while there is still a chance of getting to safety."

Sapel had been hanging behind his mother and now edged back into the shelter of the cave. "I don't want to go in the rain!" he declared crossly.

Spock looked down at his son, frowning slightly. "What you want at the moment, Sapel, is immaterial. Go and get a pack ready of what you can't bear to leave behind. And hurry."

The boy stuck his lip out stubbornly. "Why? Just 'cause you say so?" he demanded.

"I have no time to argue with you! Go and do as I say!" Spock retorted, feeling his patience begin to slip.

Sapel showed every indication of standing his ground but Christine spun him about face and swatted his rear, hard, impelling him inside. "That's enough of that, young man! I've had about enough of your sass! Get in there and do as your father tells you!"

Sapel scrambled and disappeared to get his gear together. Spock stared at his wife with raised eyebrows. "You hit him!" he commented in an accusatory tone.

"I applied a little impetus to my orders, that's all," she answered. "You know I would never hurt Sapel. And believe me, he barely felt that little pop at all. It just let him know that I mean business when I speak."

"As a Vulcan, I cannot condone that form of behavior," Spock answered, drawing himself up.

There was another peal of thunder and the rain fell harder. Christine winced. "We can discuss this later, Spock. Right now, we're got more urgent matters to think about."

"Agreed," he sighed. They ducked out of the rain and shed their damp coats. Undoubtedly they would get soaked soon enough. At the moment, they had packing to do.

* * *

It had begun to rain again hard when they had finally gathered their gear together. Spock paused at the doorway and shrugged into his pack. Christine was waiting behind him, also ready to go. Spock peered out at the downpour, sighed and said, "You carry Mooch and I'll help Sapel."

"No!" the boy shot back immediately. "I don't need any help!" Spock could almost hear the unfinished sentence, "...especially from you."

Wisely the child didn't say it and Spock only gave him a warning look. "Very well. Get your pack on. We must go."

"Can't we wait until it stops raining?" Sapel asked in a whiny tone.

"No. We must go now."

"I want to carry Mooch."

Spock sighed heavily. "All right! But we are going now!"

Sapel's gaze flicked to his mother to gauge her reaction and got a glare from her that threatened dire consequences. He picked up Mooch and put her inside his parka, a tight fit because the kit was nearly full grown now and the size of a very large house cat.

Readying himself, Spock plunged out into the rain, his hood pulled up over his head. Sapel came next, then Christine following close behind him. The drive of the rain pounded into them, soaking them to the skin before they made their way down toward the creek. There Spock brought them to a halt, surveying the rushing water to determine the best way to get across. The rain streaming down his face blinded him and he ran a hand over his eyes to clear them.

"I don't see a good way across," he said. "I suppose we'll just have to plunge in. I'll go first and test the way, then you and Sapel come across."

Spock moved cautiously into the swift water, carefully feeling the way. Normally only ankle deep, the water swiftly came up nearly to his hips, pushing relentlessly at him and trying to knock him off his feet. Once he nearly lost his footing, then recovered it, finally making it to the opposite bank. Dumping his pack on the shore, he waded back in and recrossed.

"What's wrong?" asked Christine over the drumming of the rain.

"It's too deep and fast for Sapel to wade," Spock answered, raising his voice to be heard over the pelting rain.

"I can do it!" the boy argued.

Spock ignored him, addressing himself to Christine. "Take Mooch and I'll carry Sapel on my back."

"I'm not riding like a baby!"

"Sapel, I do not propose to stand here in the rain and argue with you!" Spock answered, his patience at an end.

"You're asking for it, mister!" Christine seconded, tired of her son's obstinance. "Give me Mooch!"

"No!"

She grabbed his arm and physically removed the kit from underneath the boy's coat. "That is enough!" she answered angrily.

Mooch squealed as Christine grabbed her roughly and yanked her out of her warm sanctuary. She twisted to defend herself, all her wild instincts leaping to the fore. In the melee that followed, Christine ended up with a badly bitten finger and several deep scratches, while Mooch hit the ground running and disappeared back in the direction of the cave, scrambling at top speed.

"Goddamn it!" Christine swore, sucking on her finger. "I hope I don't get rabies or something from this!"

"I want Mooch!" Sapel wailed and started after his pet.

"We have no time for this!" Spock snapped and seized his son around the waist. "She will be fine! Now hold on to me!"

"Let go of me!" Sapel yelled and tried to kick his father.

"Stop it!" Christine ordered, furious.

"Cease this nonsense at once!" Spock demanded of the squirming boy. "Put your arms around my neck and hang on to me."

"I don't want to!" Sapel answered loudly and kicked backward again, connecting this time with Spock's thigh.

Christine grabbed Sapel's chin, making him look at her. "I am going to wear your bottom out!" she threatened. "You're not going to be able to sit for a week!"

Sapel quieted, but sullenly, his eyes narrowed up angrily. Christine glared back, but could not afford to discipline her son here.

Spock turned with Sapel still in his arms and stepped into the water, Christine following behind. As they sank deeper into the cold, rushing water and the shock of it soaked through his clothing, Sapel shouted in protest and struggled again.

"Sapel, stop!" Spock ordered, fighting both to maintain his footing and keep a hold on the boy.

But Sapel was thoroughly agitated by now and began to fight with all his might. Flailing wildly, he lashed back with his foot and caught Spock squarely in the kneecap.

Pain like a knife shot through Spock's entire body at the impact and he reflexively loosened his grip for a split second.

It was enough. In that split second, Sapel was gone out of Spock's arms and had disappeared into the muddy, surging water.

Christine screamed and grabbed at Spock, who had whipped around in panic, searching the water frantically.

A small hand appeared and Sapel surfaced, then was pulled under again.

Without a second thought, Spock dived in after him.

"Spock!" screamed Christine again, watching in horror as he came up, sputtering and flinging muddy water out of his face, then he struck out after the small figure bobbing out of sight.

The current fought him, threatening to pull him under as well, but Spock maintained a steady stroke. Ahead of him, Sapel's head popped up, then down again, the boy thrashing and trying to catch hold of anything that might stop his rapid progress.

Every now and then a strangled screech would manage to escape before the water smothered him once again. Spock swam as fast as he could, battling the same obstacles as Sapel, but he could not seem to gain on his son.

Out of his peripheral vision, blurred and obscured by the surging water, Spock caught sight of a gnarled tree bent over the waterway. It whipped past as the current tumbled him onward. But he knew that tree. It was almost to the junction where the creek flowed into the river and it gave him added impetus to reach his child. Once the torrent dumped them into the wide, rapid flood of the main river, he would never get to Sapel in time and he wasn't sure he could swim against that strong a flow to save himself.

The knowledge and fear sent a surge of adrenalin through the Vulcan and he made a supreme effort. Ahead of him, Sapel had come up again, scrambling frantically to catch a tree branch that had lodged against the bank. He managed to catch it ... barely ... the current doing its best to tear him away from his fragile hold.

It gave Spock just enough time to reach him as the twigs Sapel was grasping snapped and gave way. Spock lunged toward him and caught the hood of his coat with one hand, snaring the tree branch with his other as an anchor. His greater size and strength allowed him to pulled Sapel back toward him and get a better hold on him. Then, his son firmly in his grip, Spock labored on hands and knees up out of the turbid waters and onto the muddy creek bank.

He retched and coughed up filthy water, then hastily turned his attention to the limp little figure he had in his arms. "Sapel!"

Spock frantically turned his son over his arm, face down, slapping him hard between the shoulder blades. Water ran out of the boy's open mouth but otherwise Sapel didn't respond. With increasing panic, Spock went through every first aid procedure he could remember, the driving rain hampering his efforts.

Finally he laid Sapel flat and began mouth to mouth resuscitation, bending over his little son to breathe life into him, then to lay his ear against the boy's mouth to hear the exhaled breath. "Please, Sapel, please," Spock whispered desperately. "I can't lose you too. Please breathe!" He pinched Sapel's nostrils together and covered the child's mouth with his own, forcing air into his lungs.

When Sapel exhaled this time, Spock quickly turned the child on his side rubbed his back vigorously. More water gushed out of the boy's mouth then Spock slapped him sharply on the back once more. He was rewarded by a strangled gasp as Sapel reflexively sucked in air, gagged and then vomited, bringing up the rest of the water he had swallowed. Then he began to pull in deep, oxygen-starved breaths, coughing hard as he did so. And he began to cry as his full terror settled over him.

Weak with a relief too profound to describe, Spock enfolded his son in his arms and held him close, scarcely noticing at first when the child put his arms around his neck and clung to him desperately.

"Shhhh, it's all right now," Spock soothed him. "You're safe."

"Papa!" Sapel sobbed, holding his father frantically. It was all he could manage to get out but the emotional flood that surged over Spock said all that needed to be expressed. Sapel was his beloved son again, his heart open once more with adoration for the man he'd thought long gone.

A scrambling sound distracted them and Christine plunged through the brush at the top of the creek bank, sliding through the mud to drop to her knees before them, throwing her arms around them both. Bursting into tears of relief, she hugged both of them as hard as she could, mindless of their soaked, filthy clothing.

She rained kisses on her little son's cheeks then lifted her face to the muddy, pallid countenance of her husband. Without a word, for she could not speak past her choked throat, she pulled him to her and captured his mouth in a frantic kiss, then pressed her cheek against his, tears flowing down through the mire on his skin.

Spock drew his wife and son close against him and there, in the mud and rain of a flooded creek bed, they became a family once again.

* * *

"Is he asleep?" Christine asked, lying on her side beneath the bed furs.

"Yes. He was quite exhausted," Spock answered softly. He slipped in beside her and settled on his back, one hand flung up and cradled beneath his head. Truth be told, he was quite exhausted himself.

They had huddled for two days on the high ground before the flood drained off enough to allow them to go home. The creek had lapped dangerously at their doorstep, but had never entered the cave and they had returned to find it warm and dry. They also found Mooch crouched at the back on Sapel's bedding, shaking and wide-eyed, but unharmed.

Fortunately there was firewood and clean water and food stored inside, but the creek valley was a muddy mess, strewn with debris. It would take days to restore it. But the first order of business had been a fire, hot food, getting cleaned up, and then into dry clothing. By the time they had accomplished all they needed to do, night had fallen and all of them were glad to seek their sleeping furs.

Spock had put Sapel to bed, carrying the sleepy child to his place and settling him in. He had clung doggedly to Spock since the near-tragedy of the creek crossing and now was only content to have his father tuck him into his bedding. As his eyes fell shut, Sapel murmured softly, almost to himself, "Night, Papa. I love you."

Spock felt his heart constrict as he laid a hand on his son's head and whispered to the sleeping child, " _T'chalya, cha'i_. Sleep well." He gazed down at his little boy's serene face for a long moment, then rose to his feet and turned to his wife's bed.

They had been sleeping together since his return from his quest, but he had never touched her in a sexual manner, not wanting to shatter the fragile peace between them. And, while she had grown used to feeling his warmth at her back once more, she likewise had never offered him the slightest hint that she wanted to resume marital relations. Spock accepted it with the stoicism of his Vulcan upbringing. It was not unusual for Vulcan couples to remain celibate between _pon farr_ , even to go their separate ways until brought back together at the Mating Time. He assumed that Christine wished it to be so between them.

Thus, he was a little surprised when she snuggled closer to him and insinuated herself into the hollow of his near shoulder. Obligingly, he embraced her with that arm, but did not move off his back or respond more than to hold her lightly. She slipped her arm across his bare chest and, for a long time, they lay quietly, listening to the soft crack and snap of the embers in the hearth.

He let his thoughts wander over the contentment he was feeling just now, his family safe, his wife cuddled against him. Her skin smelled clean and fresh, still flushed from her recent bath. The soft, yielding globe of her breast pressed into his side, causing an incipient tingle to form in his groin, and he tightened his hold on her fractionally. Her breath against his neck, the way she moved her foot against his leg, caused the tingle to become a throb and he drew a deep inhalation as he sought to control the arousal before it went any further. He knew all too well how thoughtlessly he had treated her before he left, how he had ruthlessly taken her for his own gratification. Sensitive to her injured psyche, he had determined he would not inflict himself on her until she asked it of him. If ever. He tried not to think about his own fast approaching _pon farr_ , approximately a year away now.

As if she could read his thoughts, as perhaps she could pressed skin-to-skin with him, Christine raised her head slightly and peered seriously at him in the dim light of the fading fire. She reached up to turn his face toward hers, caressing his cheek with soft fingertips.

"You've been away long enough. When are you coming home?" she asked enigmatically.

He couldn't help the little twitch of an eyebrow that lifted in response. "I don't understand. I am right here."

" _Spock_ has been home for a month," she answered. "When does my _husband_ get here?"

Understanding flooded through him but he replied in a quiet voice, "Is he welcome?"

Her mouth quivered slightly at the corners, fending off tears. "He is if he wants to be," she whispered. "I want him home with me. I want him back the way he was. I'm just not sure myself if _he_ wants it." She blinked back tears and went on, "Spock ... I'm so sorry about everything. I hated you so much when T'Larin died. I was so devastated that I couldn't even begin to understand what you must have been feeling. And when you left, I was so angry at you and said such terrible things. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Beloved," he answered, shocked and saddened. Rolling onto his side, he pulled her into his arms. "I'm the one to blame. If I had been more in control of myself, if I'd realized what was happening to me... and I can't help but think that, if I hadn't left you that morning, just after you'd given birth ... none of this would have happened. It's all _my_ fault!"

"Spock, you couldn't have prevented it," she argued, tears filling her eyes as she stroked his face. "You didn't know that creature was waiting out there anymore than I did. It was just a horrible, horrible thing that just ... happened. It's over and done with. We can't bring her back, no matter how much we beat ourselves up about it. We need to put it behind us and go on with our lives. It's time to move on. Can we do that?"

He gazed at her then nodded. "Yes. I resolved my grief during my pilgrimage. I am at peace now. I know we will never forget her or entirely erase the pain from our hearts, and that's as it should be. But it's time to turn back to the future."

He paused then said, "And actually I have been mulling over something else for some time, something I haven't mentioned because I didn't know how you would feel." She looked at him, plainly curious, and encouraged him to continue. "Let's get away from here. This valley," Spock said. "There are too many bad memories here in this place. Let's move and start over."

"But where would we go?" she asked, puzzled and a little concerned.

"The ship," he answered, growing more animated. "We've only been there in the winter. I would like to spend the summer there. Anyway, there are things on board that I want to investigate and equipment I want to try fixing again. We'll be closer to Sea Home, too, once it's time to migrate to the coast."

Christine could see the eagerness shining in Spock's eyes and she finally nodded. "All right. I would like to get away from here. Let's talk about it more tomorrow when we're not so tired."

"Agreed."

She nodded again and then paused. "Spock ... I do need to know something, though," she said, her voice tinged with hesitancy.

As she had done, he responded with an encouraging expression. Her lashes hooded her eyes for a second, then she looked up to meet his earnestly. "Spock ... you haven't touched me sexually since you got back from your journey. I have to know ... do you ... do you still want me?"

His heart thudded at the pain in her question and he responded by pulling her into his arms. " _T'hy'la_ ... I thought you did not want _me_! It has been torment beyond reason to lie beside you every night and be unable to touch you. I have ached to love you. Literally experienced pain from the hours I have spent next to you but apart."

He ran his hand over her hair, trailing his fingers along her jawline, feeling her emotions crackle along her meld points. "Not want you? My beloved wife, you are the heart that beats within me. You are the reason I live! I want you more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life!"

His mouth came down on hers, gently at first, then searching, hungry. She replied in kind, a matching need that met his head on.

Abruptly all of the pent up passion he had been amassing burst free. The weeks of solitude and grief, of denial and anger, of isolation and introspection ... all were washed away on the clean torrent of renewal. His soul and body surging with joy, he devoured her lips, his tongue seeking and finding hers, his arms folded around her.

Suddenly they could not get close enough, could not drink deeply enough of the other's lips, could not rid themselves fast enough of the barriers of clothing that kept them apart. All the weeks of separation disappeared as they came together in glorious joining, mind and body, exploding in the indescribable ecstasy of mutual pleasure and understanding.

After a very long time, exhausted but not yet sated, they lay resting, Spock still covering her sweaty body with his, his fullness still buried within her, and he looked down into the tranquil blue pools of her eyes, so filled with love for him that he could scarcely fathom its depth. She gazed back, radiant, more beautiful than he'd ever seen her.

Feeling himself swell with need once again, he bent and kissed her full, rose-pink lips, sending a flush of desire and adoration through their bondlink to envelop her. She groaned against his mouth and her hips lifted slightly beneath him, her answer clear.

Barely parting his lips from hers, he whispered with every bit of love he felt for her, " _T'hy'la_..."

Her hands came up to caress his face and she whispered back, "Husband ... my darling husband ... love me again. Please! I need you so much!"

It was all the encouragement he required. Bringing his lips back down on hers in a fervent kiss, Spock began to move again within his wife's welcoming body.

 

END OF PART FIVE

PART SIX – "Rites of Passage" – FOLLOWS

 


	6. Year Six -- Rites of Passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, violence, language and attempted rape.

**Present Day**

The wind off the ocean howled like a thing in pain, its voice rising to a shrill screech, then falling to a moan and climbing back again. It drove the rain before it, lashing all in its path, the trees bending against its force. Some were limber enough to bow to its power; others tried to endure and were snapped like twigs. The wind and rain stripped all of them bare and used the debris to further erode anything still standing.

On the beach, waves crashed ashore from an ocean gone mad. The storm surge had already flooded the waterfront and the breakers were hurling themselves against the hillside that rose up steeply behind the stretch of sand.

High up on the hillside, within the low log cabin snugged against the rock face, the Vulcan man and his Human wife sat in the firelit dark, listening to the storm tear at the timbers of their house. Their three children were asleep in bed ... Or were supposed to be. The eleven-year-old boy lay awake, too apprehensive to sleep, and his immediately younger sister, just turned five, huddled against him. The baby, nearly two years old now, was the only one truly asleep, oblivious to the storm that raged outside their home.

A particularly fierce blast rattled the house and shook the front door, although it was securely barred. The woman flinched and, when it had abated, commented softly, "That was a bad one. How much longer do you think it will last?"

"I don't know," the man answered, leaning back in his chair, one he'd made himself. "I do not know if this is a hurricane or some other type of storm. My mother used to tell me of the storms that would hit the northeast coast of North America. Sometimes they would last for days and inundate the coastline."

Outside, the wind howled its way up to a scream and then slacked off a bit, before resuming its banshee wail. They could hear another tree crack and split, then crash to the ground, much too close for comfort. Its impact caused a softer, more Human cry to issue from the area of the children's bedding and Christine rose quickly to check on it.

She returned a moment later with her youngest child, T'Kai, in her arms. The baby was fretting as her mother settled back into her own chair. "It's okay, sweetie babe," she whispered. "Hush now..." She gently rocked the child and peace resumed, punctuated only by the sounds of the storm.

"Vulcan doesn't have anything like this, does it?" she asked, picking up the thread of the conversation.

"Not ocean storms like Earth has," Spock replied, rubbing a forefinger along his little daughter's cheek. She opened onyx black eyes to peer sleepily up at him, then closed them again. With her elfin features, T'Kai was the most Vulcan appearing of the three children, although like her siblings, she was three-quarters Human and only a quarter Vulcan. But she had taken fully after her father's race and Christine thought she was the prettiest and most delicate of all the babies she'd borne.

T'Kai shifted in her mother's arms and Spock felt a tickle in his mind. Her telepathic abilities were beginning to form. He sent back a sense of comfort and safety, pleased as the baby settled down.

"She is much like T'Ruasa, sister to my father," Spock murmured, stroking the baby's soft cheek again. "I remember her from my childhood. I thought she was spectacularly beautiful and I wanted to marry her when I was small. I was greatly disappointed when I learned that I could not possibly marry my aunt." He smiled at the memory of childish naiveté then his voice softened in introspection. "A great pity that you will never meet her. She and her husband died in a speeder accident not long after I left for the Academy."

"I'm sorry," Christine said quietly. "You must have loved her very much."

Spock raised a speculative eyebrow. "Vulcans do not adhere to such emotions as love—" He paused as his wife snorted in disbelief, then continued. "—however, she was someone very special in my life."

The wind rattled the house once more in a sustained blast that seemed determined to take the roof off. In the midst of it, the middle child, T'Jenn, appeared and made to climb into her mother's lap. Seeing that it was already occupied, she turned to her father instead. "Papa, I'm scared," she whimpered.

"It is only the wind," he assured her, but took her onto his lap nevertheless, allowing her to snuggle against the solid warmth of his chest. Then turning his head a bit, he spoke in a voice just a little above conversation level. "You might as well join us, too, Sapel. It doesn't seem that any of us will sleep this night."

The boy appeared, his black hair disheveled. "How'd you know I was awake, Papa?"

"I could feel your emotions and the patterns of your thoughts," Spock replied as his son settled onto the rug between his parents. "It was obvious that you weren't asleep."

"I need to work on my control," Sapel murmured.

"Yes, but not tonight," his father replied.

"What were you saying about the storms on Vulcan?" Sapel asked, changing the subject as he stared into the fireplace. "Don't they have oceans there?"

"Small ones. Not like your mother's home planet, Earth. They are more like very large seas. The wind can be quite fierce and whip up high waves, but it doesn't compare to the great ocean storms on Earth, which can cover hundreds and hundreds of miles."

"Then what do they have on Vulcan?"

Spock shifted T'Jenn to a more comfortable position on his lap. "Vulcan is mostly desert and the storms there can rage for days. They can be lethal to anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in one. The salt storms on Vulcan's Forge have been known to flay people and animals down to the bare bone and, in the worst cases, to grind those to dust."

In his arms, T'Jenn shuddered. "I hope we never go there! It sounds bad!"

"On the contrary," Spock replied. "Vulcan is a beautiful and fascinating planet. It can be harsh, yes, but the cities are havens of peace and culture. There are museums and galleries of art, schools of learning and advanced medical centers. Fountains and gardens where one may contemplate for an hour or a week. It is a place of peace and harmony. And should we ever get back there, I will take you to my home ... Keldeen."

Christine looked up from where T'Kai was fast falling asleep. "Keldeen? I thought you lived in ShiKahr."

"Indeed I do, if I am home for only a short visit or if my business takes me there. My townhouse is located in ShiKahr not far from my parents' home," Spock answered. "However, on those occasions when I am home on long leave and have the time to spare, I move my residence to my estate at Keldeen."

"What's that, Papa?" asked T'Jenn curiously.

"It is a large house and agricultural lands located on the north side of the Llangon Hills on Vulcan. I inherited it from my great-grandfather when he died and it belongs to me now," Spock explained.

"I don't know where Llan.... Llang... where that is," his daughter complained.

"I will draw you a map of Vulcan sometime and show you," he replied.

"You have more than one house?" Sapel asked, puzzled.

"Of course. That is not so strange. We have more than one home here on Terra Two," Spock answered. "There is our Valley Home, the Ship, and Sea Home here. We move about from one to the other as we need to do. Do you remember the summer we spent at the Ship, Sapel?"

The boy dipped his chin. "Of course, I do. It was awful."

"But it was the summer you passed the ritual of _kahs'wan_ ," Spock replied. "A very important milestone in a Vulcan male's life."

"Only because I had no choice," Sapel grumbled, his voice dropping a bit. "It was survive or die."

Spock and Christine exchanged a meaningful glance over the head of their son. It had indeed been an eventful summer. It had set Sapel firmly on the road to manhood and had given him a glimpse of an ordeal that was yet to come his way...

* * *

**Year Six**

When the herds began to move south in the fall, Spock, Christine and Sapel packed their belongings and followed them, Mooch tagging along in their wake. They had spent the summer preparing for the move, replacing and repairing the clothing they had worn out or lost during the previous year's bad weather, refurbishing weapons and tools, restocking their food supplies that they would take with them. By September, they were ready to go.

They closed the cave and sealed it with Christine's remade door, then hefted their packs and set off to the west. The summer had been a hot, dry one after the spring's heavy rains, and the river was low enough to cross without undue difficulty.

This was another reason Spock was anxious to begin the journey when they did. He had no desire to fight the current when the autumn rains brought the river level back up.

But once on the western bank, they followed its general course for a day's travel. There they camped, tired but satisfied with the progress they had made. The next morning, Spock turned them in a southwesterly direction, toward low hills that rose on the horizon and they spent their second night among a stand of brushy conifers.

From that point, their progress was slower and a bit more arduous but Spock had a very good reason for avoiding the plains that stretched out to the east, their flatness broken by the winding course of the river as it meandered away to the sea far to the south. They were getting into the territory of the giant marsupial lions they had encountered on their first trek through this area. The size of Siberian tigers or bigger, the big cats roamed the vast central grasslands of this world, preying on the roaming herds that passed through their territory in the fall, winter and spring, and hunting even bigger, stranger animals that lived year round in the savannahs and scrub.

Sapel was wide-eyed the entire trip. Although he remembered their time on the shore of Southern Sea and the dangers that area held, he had no memory of ever traveling through this part of the country. He'd been a mere toddler when his parents had last journeyed this way. The craggy hills and different flora and fauna fascinated both him and Mooch. On one afternoon, Mooch came upon a den site of her own kind and spent a good hour exchanging challenging barks and growls with the kits of that area. She finally turned tail and sped after her adopted family, unwilling to lose them as they ranged ahead.

Spock allowed their pace to be an easy one, taking the opportunity to explore the strange terrain. Christine spent time investigating plant life, mentally noting what might be edible and/or medicinal. The weather was crisp and clear during their entire trip south and both Spock and Christine began to feel renewed and reassured by their decision to move their home away from the northern plains.

On the tenth day of their journey, they topped a rocky hilltop and Spock halted them, surveying the countryside from this vantage point. As far as the eye could see to the north, west and south, the horizon disappeared in a succession of rolling hills. To the east, the hills leveled out onto the grasslands, their yellow expanses punctuated by the black and brown smudges that were grazing herds of antelope, horse and bison. There were many other types of animals here, too, and Christine was reminded more than anything of the Serengeti of Earth.

Shading his eyes against the noonday sun, Spock scanned the countryside to the south and west, searching, and was finally rewarded by a glint on the side of a hill about two miles away. "There it is," he said.

"What, Papa?" asked Sapel, trying to see what his father was looking at.

"You'll see," Spock responded enigmatically and started down the hill.

"Mama?" Sapel persisted. "What's Papa talking about?"

"You'll see," she answered with a grin, unwilling to spoil Spock's surprise.

The next hour was spent in silence as they labored down the side of one hill and back up the other. Upon cresting this second hill, Spock again stopped them, ostensibly to allow them all to catch their breath, but calling his son to his side and pointing across the valley.

Sapel's eyes bugged and his mouth dropped open. "Wh-what _is_ it?!" he demanded when he could speak again.

"Our destination," Spock responded as Christine joined him and reached out to take his hand.

Lying on the hillside across from them was the grounded form of a sleek, silver spacecraft, partially covered with vegetation and a landslide. Never to fly again, the Romulan yacht lay as they had left it several years before, the only difference being that it was now almost completely overgrown with weeds and vines.

"Let's get down there," Christine said, looking happily up at her husband. "With any luck, we'll sleep in real beds tonight!"

* * *

The ship had almost completely disappeared underneath its thatch of vines and a dirt slide had blocked the door sometime in the past year or so. After doffing his pack and retrieving his elk shoulder blade shovel, Spock set to work digging the hatch free.

As he worked, Christine made camp, just in case they could not access the ship this evening. The nights were growing cool now that autumn was underway and she wanted to have a fire going as soon as possible. There was plenty of deadwood around and she gathered up an armload in short order. After clearing away the weeds, she found her old hearth ring and happily began laying the fire and getting it going.

Sapel spent his time walking around and around the ship, touching it hesitantly, then running his fingers over the sleek metal surface. He couldn't get enough of this new marvel. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the wonder of this shiny stuff, bright even through its overcoat of dirt and plants.

Spock worked steadily, but finally, as the sun was setting, put down his crude shovel and walked back to the fire, accepting a cup of tea from his wife. "Too much earth to move," he said, sinking down cross-legged beside her. "We will continue tomorrow."

"Then I'll make supper," she replied. "In any case, I'm really glad to be here. This was a good idea, Spock. I didn't realize how much we needed to get away from the cave until we started out. I feel like a whole new woman!"

He smiled and sipped his tea. "There are times when a new beginning is best. I think we have both nearly forgotten who we are and where we came from. We have been so consumed with the tragedies of the past year that it seems we have been on this world always."

"It does, doesn't it?" she answered softly, her eyes taking on a faraway look. "I'd stopped thinking about the way it was."

She remained preoccupied for a few seconds more, then came back to herself, turning to face him, her blue eyes warm and gentle. "Say, who knows? We may be able to get the galley stove working this time! I'll make us some great meals! If I can remember how to cook on anything but an open flame, that is."

"You have kept us well-fed and healthy," he admonished her. "I have often marveled at the culinary genius you have shown."

"Bosh!" she retorted, but was pleased nevertheless. "Why don't you and Sapel go fetch some water before it gets dark ... if you remember how to find the stream, that is. I should have something going by the time you get back."

"An agreeable suggestion," Spock replied and got to his feet, calling to his son. Catching up two of the water bags, they started off down the hill, toward the spring they'd discovered here so long ago. After they had gone, Christine sat back for a moment and studied the quiet surroundings. There was still plenty of daylight, but the sun had set behind the hills to the west and the sky was painted a delicate palette of blues and pinks. In the trees surrounding the ship's resting place, birds were coming to roost and were twittering and fussing among themselves as they vied for their places or courted noisily in the waning twilight.

Far away, Christine heard the bleat of a hill sheep and knew that the wooly creatures had begun moving down to lower pastures for the winter. She made a note to herself to explore spinning and weaving that wool into cloth. Quickly, her agile mind ran over what she'd need ... some way to card the wool, then a spindle to twist it into yarn. She'd have to figure out how to make a loom... she smiled to herself as she sized up the new challenge. If she could make woolen clothing, it would be a nice change from the leather garb they all wore now.

And, speaking of clothing, she remembered that there was still a small wardrobe of women's garments left hanging in the main cabin's closet, the property of the long-vanished Romulan woman who had used this ship. There were men's things, too, but they were much, much too small for Spock. They might be tailored to fit Sapel now, though. He was growing up fast, four and a half by Terra Two's count, but getting on to be six years on Earth or Vulcan.

That number struck her abruptly and her feeling of contentment quivered slightly. If her count was correct, then Spock must be facing his next _pon farr_ within the next few months. She had no idea what it would be like now that they were so closely bonded. It had been bad enough the first time, when she had barely known him. Oh, certainly, they'd been colleagues on the _Enterprise_ but nothing could have prepared her for the incredible intimacy of the _pon farr_. He'd shielded her mentally, knowing she could not endure the pain of it, but it was not until weeks later that they had finally joined their souls in full love and bonding.

Now that fact frightened her. What little she had managed to glean from the medical records indicated that a bonded wife went through the madness as well. On Vulcan, during the Time, the couple were left strictly alone, for in their near insanity, either of them was capable of harming or even killing anyone interfering with their mating. The male was especially aggressive and emotionally overwrought while in the _plak tow_. He would let nothing stand between himself and his mate.

She had seen Spock in the early stages and knew from experience the depths to which his anger could reach. She had a vivid recollection of a bowl of soup sailing past her ear and his livid, incensed countenance bearing down on her. It was not an experience she wanted to repeat. If she hadn't gotten out when she did, he might have killed her then and there.

The image left her chilled and she shuddered involuntarily at the memory. Then another thought struck her. What about Sapel? On Vulcan, the mating couple went into seclusion and any children were cared for by relatives. That wasn't possible here. Spock very well might be capable of harming his son while in the blood fever. For that matter, she might be capable of it, too!

Christine drew in a startled breath. She'd have to figure out some way to keep Sapel safe during the four or five day mating period, when both she and Spock were likely to be completely irrational.

Puzzling over this dilemma, Christine sighed and began the task of heating water in order to prepare a simple stew of dried meat and vegetables.

* * *

With all three of them working together, they managed to clear the dirt and scree away from the ship's hatch by midday, although more of the hillside cascaded down now and then, pebbles and dust raining on them from above.

"I must find a way to shore that up," Spock mused, gazing at the rocky hill rising above them. Then he turned back to the task of opening the hatch itself.

Dirt and plant roots had managed to work their way into the door channel and it took Spock another hour to laboriously pick it out with the point of his Romulan knife. But at last, the hatch was free and clear and he keyed in the lock code.

Nothing happened and he tried again. This time, the hatch moved back an inch, scraping on missed sand still wedged into the channel. Taking a deep breath and anchoring himself as best he could, Spock laid both palms flat against the door, fingers spread for maximum coverage, and used his own enormous strength to drag the hatchway back toward him.

With a screech, it was free of the sand and Spock nearly lost his footing as the door slid all the way open. Quickly, he recovered himself and stepped back. Stale, musty air billowed out of the ship for a few seconds then the atmospheres equalized and the three people moved forward to peer inside.

"Let me check it first," Spock said, stepping into the shuttle's main room. "I do not believe anything could have gained access, but it is better to be safe."

Christine held back the eagerly goggling Sapel until Spock returned. "It is fine," he said and reached a hand out to help his wife come aboard. Sapel scrambled in after her, looking around with wide eyes.

Inside the ship, darkness prevailed except for the natural light coming in through the hatch and the cockpit window plates. There was a thin film of dust on the floor and the vessel had the smell of a place that had been sealed for much too long.

"I'll see if I can get the lights on," Spock said. "Keep Sapel here with you. I do not wish him to blunder around in the dark and possibly injure both himself or some ship's system." He started back toward the engine room at the stern of the yacht.

"Where's Papa going?" the boy asked, making to follow his father.

Christine grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "To see if he can get things going again," she said. "You come with me and help me find the cleaning materials. The first thing I want to do is swab this deck."

"Swab? What's that?"

"A long and traditional pastime of sailors everywhere," she grinned.

Sapel grumbled a little, but soon both he and Christine were busy sweeping and mopping the dust from the decking in the main room and cockpit. They'd do the cabins and bathrooms once there was more light to see by.

In the midst of the work, Mooch made herself highly unwelcome when the kit innocently hopped through the main hatch, mussing the woman's newly cleaned floor, and Christine chased her out with the mop. The little kit sat outside, reared up on her hind legs, chittering in high offense at having been so rudely treated. Christine didn't care; she'd just got the decking cleaned to her satisfaction and she wasn't going to have it tracked up.

It was to no avail, however, for Spock came walking back from tinkering with the ship's systems, leaving a neat trail of size 12 footprints all the way through the main room and into the galley. "I need a light," he said, oblivious to Christine's agitation. After pawing through the utility cabinet in the galley, he came back, portable torch in hand, and paused, gazing curiously at his wife.

"You seem upset, Christine," he said, puzzled by her frown. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, something's wrong!" she snapped. "Why didn't you wipe your feet before you came tromping in here?"

Both of Spock's eyebrows elevated. "I saw no need," he answered simply.

Christine gave a strangling sound and pointed back toward the engine room. "Out!!" He complied, hearing her mutter under her breath, "Men!" as she began to scrub furiously at the now double trail of prints.

Sapel erupted into peals of helpless giggles. His mother shot a glare his way, but then began to chuckle as well. She ceased her mopping and leaned on the handle. "Oh, what's the use? It's just going to get dirty again when the air system comes on and blows all that dust out. Come on, Squirt. Let's go get our gear inside."

* * *

Within two hours, Spock had the power back on and Christine watched Sapel's reaction with pure delight as the light panels flickered and came on throughout the ship. She almost expected him to make horns at the display and hide under the table. Then he discovered how to turn the light panels on and off and spent several enchanted minutes making the magic work before Christine finally said, "That's enough. If those illumers blow, I doubt there are any replacements on board!" Still, she caught him testing out his newfound toy a few more times.

She left him to explore and marvel at the cabin that was to be his. The bunk still contained the make-shift railing they'd constructed when they'd used it as a crib. Christine started to remove it, then thought better of the idea. Sapel wasn't used to sleeping on an elevated platform and he might just roll off the edge of the bed in his sleep. She decided to leave the railing up for a while until he became accustomed to the raised bed.

Spock walked back up the corridor from the engine room, wiping his hands on a towel he'd found, and this time paused before stepping onto the cleaned area of the main room. Christine gave a little laugh and said ruefully, "Oh, come on. I'm going to have to mop again anyway."

"I do apologize for tracking up your floor," he said, continuing toward her. "It was quite thoughtless of me."

"You had other things on your mind," she conceded and lifted her face up to receive his soft kiss. "It took you a long time back there. What's up?"

Spock looked a bit introspective and answered, "The power pile is still in excellent condition, but the main battery was drained. I'm not sure how much you know about starship mechanics—"

"About enough to work the sonic shower," she admitted.

"Yes, well, when the ship is in starflight, the batteries are constantly regenerated by the energy pulse of the main engines," Spock explained patiently. "However, in dock or when the ship is shut down, any active internal system ... Lights, water and air circulation, for example ... Run off the batteries. After a long enough period of time, the batteries drain, although it may take year or more to drain them." Again he looked puzzled. "But I shut the ship down completely when we left. There should have been no systems running that would drain a battery like that."

"Did we leave a light on in a closet perhaps? Or some circuit that didn't get closed?" she suggested.

He shook his head. "No. I ran a quite thorough checklist," he responded. "There was one relay that didn't shut off at first, but I adjusted it and it closed. I must do more investigation."

"Other than that, how do the rest of the systems look?" she inquired.

"Very good. I have started up the water and sewage recyclers and the air circulation should come on as soon as the batteries have recharged enough to power them. I have the generators at full cycle. It should take approximately eight point four hours for a full charge to build."

She nodded. "Good. I decided to wait on cleaning the ship until the filters blow clear. I don't think much dust has built up, but no point in doing it twice."

"Logical," he agreed.

At that moment they heard the toilet in Sapel's bathroom flush. And flush again. And flush yet again. "Oh, dear," Christine sighed. "He's found the commode. I better go stop him before he flushes his socks down the drain and you really have a nasty job on your hands!"

She headed with alacrity for their son's quarters. "Sapel!! Whatever you're doing in there — stop it!!"

Spock turned to gaze after his wife. "But he doesn't wear socks," he answered futilely.

* * *

It was late when the air circulators finally kicked in and, predictably, spewed a build up of dust from all the vents. The family retreated outside until the cyclers could do their work and so spent one final evening camped around their hearth fire. Christine and Sapel had moved most of the gear inside earlier that day, but she had anticipated their need to use the tent and sleeping furs and had them ready.

The night was clear and chill, the deep black sky strewn with brilliant stars, their brightness muted across one section by the veil of a faintly colored nebula. Long after Sapel had fallen asleep, Spock had patrolled the area of their camp, making certain that no predators lurked, then, once satisfied, he had slipped under the furs with Christine and pulled her close.

For a while they lay looking up at the starry sky, both of them tired from the journey and content simply to lie with one another. "I still wonder if they're looking for us," Christine whispered, her head nestled into Spock's shoulder and one hand resting on his chest.

"It has been over six years now," he answered. "I do not believe that the search would have continued this long. I strongly suspect that we were both declared dead no longer than six months after we disappeared."

She nodded faintly. "I think so, too. Still ... I have a grain of hope left alive in me."

His arm around her shoulders tightened a little and once more they fell silent. Shifting more toward him, Christine moved her arm to lie across his upper body and lifted her face up invitingly. Obligingly, he lowered his and their lips met in a long, languorous kiss.

"It's been a long time," she murmured when they parted.

"Indeed," he answered back. "With one thing or another, we have not had the opportunity to be intimate. It is something I have greatly missed. I _was_ hoping that we might celebrate our return here in a real bed, but..."

"I don't know. Making love out under the stars has its charms, too," she teased.

"It has been a long day," he responded. "Are you sure that you are not too tired?"

She smiled and kissed him again. "I am never too tired for you," she replied throatily and sank back into his arms, her lips parting against his and her tongue seeking entry to his mouth. He allowed her willingly, probing back with his own.

As the kiss deepened, he enfolded her in his embrace and rolled so that he was lying partially above her. When they broke briefly for air, she gasped, "What about you? Are _you_ tired?"

"I will leave the answer to that question to your imagination," he smiled and captured her lips once again. If she hadn't been so preoccupied, she would have known the answer, for she could feel his arousal pulsing through him and suffusing her with its glow.

They were each still clothed, both to ward off the chill of the night and in order to be prepared should they need to react quickly if danger threatened. His hand slipped down her body, pausing to massage her breasts, then pulled up the hem of her tunic, working its way slowly up her thigh until it encountered her loincloth. Moving between her legs, his fingers stroked her through the supple leather, rubbing and teasing until he felt the strap begin to slide against her wetness.

Then his fingers found the edge of the leather strip and slipped beneath it. She was slick with silky secretions, swollen and ready for him, and she responded with a gasp as his fingertips encountered the cleft of her sex and moved to gently rub against the sensitive nub.

As he fondled her and roused her more and more, she reached down to search for the hard shaft filling his own loincloth. It was not difficult to find nor to free from its confinement. In a moment, she had shoved his covering to one side and wrapped her hand around the hot column of his erection. He gasped involuntarily as she pumped it and responded by working his fingers more quickly over her swollen womanhood.

For a few moments, they both reveled in the erotic touches of the other, then Christine began to shudder uncontrollably, her back arching up as her whole body tensed and quivered. He watched her face going through its sublime emotions, his fingers still moving in minute circles, then picked up his rhythm once more as she relaxed a little. Even as he did so, she reached down and pulled her loincloth off, leaving her lower body bare.

The action caused a surge of excitement to pulse through him and he took his hand away from her long enough to divest himself of his own covering. Without speaking, he moved into position above her, the fact that they were completely clothed except for their sexual organs lending an air of the forbidden that delighted both of them.

She lifted her arms up readily as he settled against her, his heated rod slipping easily into place between her spread thighs. It took only a few seconds more and he had pushed his way inside her, closing his eyes at the rapture of feeling her body envelop him once again. With a contented sigh, he began to thrust into her welcoming depths, burying his face against her neck as he did so.

Christine lay happily beneath him and opened her eyes to peer dreamily up into the star flecked night sky. Thus she saw the trail of light that streaked across the heavens and disappeared into the north.

"Mmmm ... I just saw a shooting star," she murmured against Spock's ear.

"Make a wish then," he responded, his voice muffled and a little breathless, the cadence of his hips picking up a little.

She smiled and closed her eyes, holding him closer. "I just did," she whispered. "It's coming true right this minute!" Her nails dug into his back and her hips lifted a bit underneath his as she began to feel his building climax setting her own into motion.

Neither of them saw the star that moved across the sky on the same track as the first one, then slow and pause for a long moment, turn in a lazy arc and go back the way it had come.

* * *

Christine found Spock sitting in the pilot's seat of the cockpit, reading laboriously through the Romulan checklist and looking decidedly puzzled. She handed him a mug of tea and settled into the co-pilot's chair. "What's up?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I have gone over every one of these systems but I cannot find the source of the power drain," he answered. "I had thought it was a balky relay but they are all working up to specifications." He sipped at the tea without looking up from the datapad in his hand, scarcely noticing that he was drinking from a real cup and not one carved from stone or wood. "I am currently in the process of testing out every switch here on the control panel in an attempt to locate the drain."

She didn't answer for a moment and he finally looked up at her. "You didn't eat any lunch, you know," his wife commented.

Spock's eyebrow lifted as he realized that he had been at this job for over six hours now. He had been so absorbed in it that time had slipped away from him. "Indeed I did not," he responded. "What about you and Sapel?"

"Oh, we both ate hours ago. I didn't interrupt you. You were buried up to your shoulders in that panel there." Christine's eyes twinkled a little over the rim of her cup. "I never interrupt men when they're working on machinery. It tends to be dangerous."

The other brow joined its mate as Spock stared at her. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Christine," he answered. Laughing, she reached to pat him lightly on the thigh. "Never mind. It's just a joke. Why don't you take a break, though? That worry crease is starting to be permanent."

"Worry crease? What worry crease?"

She reached up and rubbed the tip of her index finger over the frown lines that had taken up residence between his sweeping black eyebrows. "That one!" she declared.

"Christine," he informed her haughtily. "Vulcans do not worry."

That sent her into peals of laughter. "Of course not," she answered, still giggling. "You merely dwell on a problem until you have worked out a logical solution."

"Exactly."

She gave his forehead another jiggle and then got up. "Well, I'm about to start supper, so don't dwell on this problem too much longer." She left the cockpit and he turned back to the control board, methodically turning on the next switch and beginning the diagnostic program to trace its operation totally.

* * *

_Christine!_

Spock's voice echoed like a shot through the woman's mind, jolting her with its abruptness. He was within shouting distance, but typically he would not raise his voice to call her, preferring to speak through their mind bond.

She, however, was not a telepath and could not converse with him unless they were touching. She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel that hung from a convenient hook and walked out of the galley and up to the ship's cockpit.

"What is it?" she asked.

Spock looked at her, his face grim. "I found the source of the power drain," he replied.

Christine's eyes widened a little. "It must not be anything you expected," she answered. "What is it?"

In answer he pointed to a depressed lilac button on the control panel, fairly anonymous except for its color and the strange icon etched into its surface. Christine shook her head, not understanding.

Spock continued, "I should have realized what it was long before, but I am still not fluent in Romulan, particularly technical terms and especially when they are represented by cryptic abbreviations and symbols. Do you see the glyph on the button's surface? That translates literally as 'cry in night of empty heart'."

"That doesn't make any—" Abruptly Christine broke off, gasping as the meaning hitting her.

"Yes," Spock said. "It's a distress signal. And it's been activated. Quite a long time ago, if it was capable of draining the ship's batteries."

Christine felt her legs going weak and she sat down in the co-pilot's seat. "Oh, Spock! Do you know what this means? We can signal for help!!"

But his expression didn't change and he shook his head. "The circuit has corroded over time. There is still a weak signal being broadcast, but it is very erratic. In addition, there is no subspace transmitter here. This beacon is designed for intrasystem transmission only. Even if we _could_ reactivate it, there is no guarantee that anyone would ever receive it."

"But it was working, wasn't it?" she argued.

"Affirmative. And that puzzles me as well." Spock looked slightly annoyed by the little mystery confronting him. "I am certain that I powered down every single system on this ship when we closed it five years ago. This distress beacon was _not_ activated!"

"Well, obviously it got activated somehow," his wife retorted. Then abruptly her face registered shock and comprehension. "Sapel! That last day, just before we left, he was playing in here. You left him alone for a short time while you finished your checklist! I'll bet anything he was attracted by its color and pushed it. He was just a toddler then and wouldn't know what he was doing!"

Spock nodded. "A logical deduction. And no use asking him about it now. He does not remember being here at all, let alone an inconsequential action performed by a child too young to understand."

"But if it's been broadcasting for five years, why hasn't anyone responded?"

Spock sighed heavily and sat back in the pilot's chair. "As I said, this signal transmits only on a limited bandwidth and in the regular broadcast wavelengths. At light speed, can you fathom how long it would take to reach even the nearest star? Years! Perhaps centuries! And the odds of its being picked up by a passing ship are so astronomical that it would be impossible to calculate."

He brought his dark eyes up to meet hers once more and his face settled into an expression of grim resolution. "And there's something else we must consider, Christine," he said. "Should the beacon be picked up, we have no means of knowing by whom. I believe us to be deep in Romulan territory, but we are likely near its farthest frontier, perhaps even within the edge of the Delta Quadrant. No Federation or allied ship will be in any position to respond. The only two groups who might pick up the beam are Romulans and freebooters. Either way, it means slavery and death for us."

Christine looked distressed. "Do you think it's that bad?" she asked.

"I think it's worse than I think," he answered. "Romulans would be infinitely preferable. With them, we would be taken to an interrogation site and tortured for as long as we lasted ... or until they determined they had wrung every iota of information out of us. Then I would undoubtedly be bartered to the highest bidder as a political or military prisoner. Eventually, I might be traded back to the Federation, but more likely I would end up in a gulag labor camp. You and Sapel would most likely be killed outright as worthless." Relentlessly, he went on, "If we are found by freebooters, they will most probably be slavers. In that case, they might kill me at once and take you and Sapel to be sold on one of the Rim Worlds where such things are either legal or tolerated. Both of you would likely wind up in a brothel, forced to service any being with the cash to pay your owners." Spock paused and his voice softened. "I doubt either of you would live long under those conditions."

Christine had tears standing in her eyes now, chilled to the bone by her husband's words. The vision of her son being prostituted like that constricted her heart in an icy grip.

Spock felt her acute distress and reached out his hand toward her. She quickly slipped her smaller hand into his grip. "I did not mean to upset you so," he said quietly. "I merely want you to understand that our remaining here on this planet is infinitely better than being rescued at any cost. I have long considered this dilemma and would rather we remain here, free, than risk being captured by unscrupulous and savage barbarians who would enslave us for their own profit and amusement."

"I agree," she whispered. "And, Spock? I want you to promise me something. Make me a solemn vow." His brows lifted in inquiry. "If anything like that ever happens ... if we're captured and you think there's no chance for escape ... Promise me, if you get the chance to act..." Her throat seized up for a second, then she forced herself to say it. "Promise me ... that you will ... kill Sapel to save him from that fate."

Spock looked startled for a second, then he nodded gravely. "I vow it, wife. And I will save you as well. I promise."

Christine allowed her tears to slide out past her tightly closed lashes. _And you, too, my darling_ , she said to herself. _I'll save you, too_.

* * *

The threat of such loss was still pressing upon them that evening after they had put Sapel to bed in his cabin and then retired to their own across the corridor. "You go ahead and take your shower," Spock told her. "I will wait a bit until I am sure Sapel is asleep. He is still not used to these arrangements and might be restless."

The boy had experienced bouts of anxiety the first couple of weeks after their move to the ship. Not only was he unaccustomed to sleeping in an elevated bed, but he had always slept no more than a few yards from his parents. Being in an enclosed room by himself had brought on nightmares of separation. Spock and Christine had found that leaving the doors to both cabins open and keeping a dim light burning in the corridor helped Sapel to feel less abandoned. But Spock had made one thing perfectly clear to him. If the door to the main cabin was closed, it meant that his parents wanted privacy and that he was not to disturb them unless it was a dire emergency. That term underwent a tighter definition after Sapel had twice interrupted his mother and father to report that the ship's air circulation system was keeping him awake and later that Mooch kept walking around on his bed and wouldn't settle down.

Spock had marched him back across the hall and was gone for several minutes. When he came back to bed, he had an exasperated expression on his face and lay stiffly beside Christine for ten minutes before he began to relax once more.

She thought about that now and chuckled softly as she dropped her robe, one that she had taken from the closet of the long-vanished Romulan woman whose ship this was, and stepped with a sigh underneath the hot water issuing gently from the nozzle in the shower stall. Like all ships, the water supply was finite and had to be recycled endlessly, but she appreciated whatever time she could spend here in the bathroom. After years of washing herself in lakes and rivers or out of bowls of tepid water in the cave, Christine luxuriated as the heated water cascaded over her body. She doubted that Cleopatra had ever bathed in such stunning decadence as she did under this simple spray.

She was still savoring the sensation of it all when Spock slid the door back and squeezed in behind her. The shower was small, not meant for more than one person at a time, but the closeness made his presence all the sweeter. She leaned back against him and he slipped his hands around her, bringing them up to cup and gently massage her full breasts. She could already feel his arousal pressing into her buttocks.

"You are wasting water, my wife," he murmured as he nuzzled her neck, his large hands continuing their gentle rhythmic squeezing of her breasts.

"Mmmmm ... I know but at least we're sharing it," she smiled back, her eyes closed blissfully. She brought her hands up to cover his, encouraging him. He began to roll both her nipples between his fingers, enjoying the feel of them stiffening and extending as a result. His penis echoed their movement, nudging between the firm roundness of her cheeks.

"Give me the soap then," he replied. She passed the slab of fragrant Romulan soap to him and he quickly built a rich lather between his hands. Once done, he slathered it over her body, moving up her neck, across her shoulders, down her stomach until he was just touching the dripping patch of hair at its base. Each time, he made sure that he rubbed the lather thoroughly over her breasts, teasing her nipples with his touch.

She groaned and turned to face him, catching up the soap and rubbing it vigorously between her own palms. When it had foamed up, she set to smoothing it over his chest and upper body, teasing his own nipples until they, too, stood hard. And like him, she washed down his abdomen to the dark hair surrounding his penis, but was careful not to touch the standing shaft that presented itself proudly to her inspection.

Their hands almost simultaneously slipped around to each other's backs, massaging the lather over smooth, curving muscles and down to knead each other's buttocks. The action pulled them tightly together and their lips naturally melded in a passionate kiss, tongues touching and tasting while fingers did their magic on lower regions. Spock's erection pushed into the luscious space between Christine's legs, the heat of his skin like a brand of fire against her sex.

She gasped and pulled away just a little, enough to reach down and grasp him with her soapy hand, the slick lather facilitating the stroking she began. In answer, he quickly slipped his fingers between her hot, puffy labia, fondling her clitoris with gentle, but insistent movements. Bending a little, he captured her mouth once more, the kiss immediately deepening into one of hunger and flame.

She broke away from against his lips, catching her breath as the first precursors of orgasm shivered through her. He felt it and it drove his own excitement up another notch. "Turn around and put her hands against the wall," he instructed her.

Her heart pounding, she quickly complied, bending over slightly as she presented her buttocks to him. He took hold of her hips and positioned himself, seating his long, hard erection into the opening of her vagina, and pressed forward with steady force until the bulbous head abruptly surged past the rim.

Christine gasped out loud once more, bracing herself for his complete entry, but he paused maddeningly at that point, not moving, allowing them both to revel in the sensations engendered by the presence of his maleness just within her body. After a moment, though, she pushed back against him and said, "I'm going crazy, Spock! Please, please ... I want you all the way in me!"

"As it pleases you, wife," he answered in a low, rough whisper, and shoved his pelvis forward. The thick, engorged shaft slammed completely into her and she gave a cry of ecstasy in response. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he began thrusting steadily, deeply, into her enveloping heat, his hands moving from clutching her breasts, down to rubbing vigorously against her clitoris, and finally to her hips where he anchored her as his thrusts took on an intense, powerful rhythm.

Then, with a groan, he jammed himself as far into her as he could and froze, his flanks quivering with tension as he loosed his flood of lava into her depths. She cried out as well, her own body climaxing in cadence with his.

They stood there immobile for a long moment, then the tension eased and they both slumped a bit. Christine leaned her cheek against the shower wall and sighed, "Oh, that was good!"

"Indeed," he answered, slipping his arms around her to embrace her. "But I believe we'd better get out now. I think our hot water is about to run out."

She noticed then that the water had gone from hot to warm and knew that in a moment it would turn cold. They were both well rinsed of soap by now and she quickly stopped the flow from the nozzle. Turning back around to face her husband, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. When she lifted her lips from his, she smiled seductively, "I certainly don't want you to catch a chill. We'd better dry off and get into bed where it's all snuggly and warm. I think I can assure you that things will heat up again in a very short time."

Spock raised an eyebrow a bit and smiled. "I have no doubt of that, my _t'hy'la._ I burn for thee even now and I suspect it will take the entire night to douse the flames."

* * *

Sated at least temporarily, Spock lay back against his pillow, one hand resting on his stomach and the other loosely clasping Christine's, their fingers entwining as they rested side by side. She sighed happily and he could feel her contentment rippling through their mind bond, still tingling with the aftermath of the intense orgasm they had both just shared. It made his groin throb speculatively, but he was drained and needful of rest. Later perhaps, for he was fairly certain that the sexual blaze within him had not burned down completely just yet.

The thought of that blaze caused him to turn his mind to another subject, one that he had avoided, but which he now suspected he would be forced to consider and plan for.

Christine sensed his change of mood and looked over at him. "What is it, Spock?" she asked softly. "You're troubled all of a sudden." He did not answer right away, mulling over how best to broach the subject, and she sensed his hesitation, too.

"You know you can talk to me about anything." She switched to halting Vulcan. "There are no walls between us, my heart," she said. "I would know you as I know myself." It was a line from an old poem, one that had become a favorite between Vulcan spouses.

Spock glanced over at her and an indulgent smile lifted the corners of this mouth. " _Kae'at knal'lur_ ," he answered in Ekili dialect, the origin of the poem. " _Kya lailara, ni kae'farr an_."

She pulled her hand out of his and punched him lightly in the ribs. "Quit showing off," she retorted. "Bad enough that you can recite the entire bloody poem. You don't have to recite it in dialect, too."

"But the only way to understanding the full meaning of the poem is to hear it as it was written— Oh!" Spock jerked away, instinctively curling into a ball as her fingers went straight for the ticklish spot she knew to be just above his pubic hair.

"Christine, stop! This is not amusing!"

"Yes, it is!" she answered, continuing in her attempts to get past his defenses.

But he wasn't responding as she had hoped. "Stop!" he said again and she understood that he was in too serious a mood to engage in play just yet.

"I'm sorry," she answered, pulling back from him. "Really, honey, what's bothering you? Are you still worrying about the distress signal?"

He took a moment to regain his dignity then stretched back out in the bed. "Partially," he replied. "But it's more than that. Our lovemaking tonight has made me think about the coming months. We have been here six years now. Six Terra Two years. It would be nearly seven if we were at home."

A little stab of fear pulsed through her. "Yes, I know," she said. "I've been thinking about that, too." She paused then asked hoarsely, "When do you think it will occur?"

He shook his head. "No later than summer. Perhaps sooner. I have begun to notice you more and more sexually than I normally do. I think you will find that my libido will begin to increase as time goes by, as will my temper and irritability. It is still many months away, I'm certain, but be aware of the changes. It will help us be prepared with the Time strikes."

She nodded. "I know. But something else, Spock. What about Sapel? Both of us will be effectively incapacitated for several days, maybe even a week or more."

"Yes," he answered in a soft, rough voice. "I do not believe that I will tolerate his presence once _plak tow_ begins. I will be irrational and even the presence of a male child may incite me to acts of violence against him. In that state of mind, I might perceive even my son as a sexual rival for your attentions."

Christine pushed herself up on one elbow to peer down at her husband's face. "What would you do at home then? On Vulcan, I mean?" she asked.

"Other clan members would take the children away and leave the mating couple in solitude," he replied. He looked away for a moment then turned back to her. "There is something else that we might consider. It is no accident that Vulcan males undergo the _kahs'wan_ between their six and seventh years. In ancient times, when the father's _pon farr_ occurred again, the older children were considered grown up enough to fend for themselves if necessary. There would soon be a new baby in the household and the parents' attention would be focused there. It was a normal, essential part of Vulcan life that the older child start on the road to independence. Often by their thirteenth or fourteenth year, when the Time struck the sire again, the young man left home and the cycle continued. It is also why Vulcan children were mind-bonded around age seven or eight, so that when Awakening and then finally _pon farr_ came upon the male for the first time, he would not endanger the community."

"Well, we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it," Christine said with practicality. "But, if I understand you, are you suggesting that Sapel undergo the _kahs'wan_ during your _pon farr_?"

"I think it may be the only way," Spock answered seriously. "In any case, we should prepare him for what is to come and have a place ready where he can retreat. He will be on his own for several days. I think he will be safer ... from me ... if he vacates the ship totally. In the madness of _plak tow_ , I will have no control over what I do during the delirium."

Christine nodded thoughtfully and yawned. "Let's talk about this later then," she answered and lay back down in his arms, snuggling against him. "Right now, we ought to try and get some sleep."

"Agreed, wife," Spock responded, pulling her close, savoring the sensation of her bare skin pressed along the length of his. "But do not be surprised if your dreams this evening are quite erotic. The flame within me burns hotly tonight and has a long way to go before it dies to embers."

* * *

In her younger days, before she had decided to go into medical research, Christine had been interested in science in general and in the earth sciences in particular. She had dabbled in geology, paleontology, and meteorology with the enthusiasm of a dedicated amateur and had spent many a pleasant hour tramping through the hills with a rock pick and a specimen bag swinging from her belt, looking for fossils or interesting outcroppings. Thus now, to her educated eye, she could look at the geology of her adopted home and "read" the history of the land around her.

The country where they were currently living consisted of rolling hills as far as the eye could see to the north, west and south. To the east, the uplands dropped at the junction of a long fault zone and leveled out onto vast flat savannah. The plains consisted of alluvial soil washed down from the hills over the eons as well as layers of ancient volcanic ash and light dusty soil called loess, blown in on the prevailing north winds. It all made for a fertile medium in which uncounted acres of rich yellow-green grass grew continually, studded by flat-topped thorn trees that were so similarly formed that it almost looked as if they had been pruned by some master hand.

It was on these grasslands that the vast herds of grazing animals roamed year round and were joined in the winter by the northern herds that migrated into warmer climes. It reminded Christine of Africa with its teeming millions of antelope, zebra and wildebeest, although the animals here were of course very different from those of her home world. Still, the general scene was the same.

The generous amount of meat on the hoof was near enough to their camp that they could have hunted there, but Spock considered it too dangerous. The huge number of grazers also attracted a huge number of predators, the kings of which were the gigantic marsupial lions. Bigger than Siberian tigers, the carnivores were only one type of several, progressively smaller hunters that preyed on the herds. There were four other species of cat that they had identified, as well as vicious hulking scavengers that, in sufficient numbers, were fierce enough to drive even the lions away from a kill. There were dog-like animals that snatched scraps from under the noses of the others, large lizards that ate the refuse left by the more particular hunters, and several types of vulture-like birds that showed up at a kill almost before the blood had soaked into the grass.

So, although Spock and Christine gazed longingly at the plentiful game that roamed the plains, he had could not risk hunting in that direction. Instead, they turned their attention to the hills around them.

Once, millions of years before, this land had been underneath a warm, shallow sea, its oxygen-rich waters breeding teeming number of plankton and microscopic animals. As on Earth, they generated coats of silica around their tiny bodies and, when they died, those little specks drifted down to the ocean floor. Over the millennia, they built up a limey mud that was eventually compacted into limestone. At some point in time, this whole area was uplifted by volcanic action and the limestone cap rose to overlie the entire region. Iron particles gave the granite that solidified out of the magma a pink color and it broke through the more fragile limestone in numerous places, its crystals sparkling in the sunlight.

Between the porous overcap and impermeable granite, water seeped into cracks to form aquifers that ate caves into the limestone and broke free in the form of numerous, ultrapure springs. These in turn fed lush forests of conifers and scrub, which — also in turn — were home to herds of hill sheep and deer. There were predators here, too, of course, but they were smaller and in fewer numbers than on the savannahs. In winter, the herbivores moved lower down into the protection of the trees and this put them within easy reach of the two-legged hunters that stalked them.

Spock and Sapel were away on just such a hunting trip, in search of either a doe or ewe still bearing some fat from the autumn feeding. The males were scrawny from the rut and too tough to make a good meal, but the females would mostly be pregnant and healthy right now, taking advantage of the evergreen foliage in which they hid and fed.

It was a fine winter day, with a cloudless blue sky stretching overhead, and not overly cold, although a sharp wind sang out of the north and bit through leather clothing if it found a meadow over which to race. Christine kept to the shelter of the trees, searching for nut cones and pods that had not been eaten by browsers. There weren't many to pick from, but she still had managed to half fill her basket.

On a rocky hillside about a half mile from the ship, she gleaned through the forest litter, as always, keeping an alert ear and eye out for danger. The trees here were still heavy with ripe, unfallen cones and she found a long branch with which she could knock more down. They fell all around here, pelting her and bouncing away in all directions. When she thought she had enough, she put down her stick and bent to retrieve them.

After picking up all around her, she moved farther down the side of the slope, slipping a bit on the loose scree and carpet of pine needles. The slope steepened and abruptly her feet went out from under her, causing her to slide downwards about ten or fifteen feet before stopping.

She wasn't hurt, although her heart was still pounding from the inadvertent ride she'd taken down the hill. It was when she got to her feet that she saw the slit in the limestone. Upon investigation, it proved to be a tiny cave, not much more than a wide crack in the rock, but it was big enough for one person to stand or stretch out in, and dry except for a seep of water that trickled down one wall and flowed out through the entrance.

Christine stood back and a smile spread over her face. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, she'd found a place for Sapel to go when the time for his _kahs'wan_ arrived.

* * *

Spock caught his son's eye and motioned silently for Sapel to move around to the upwind side of the little group of does. The boy crept soundlessly through the leaf litter, gradually moving into position. As his scent began to drift downwind, the deer became restless, turning their heads and flicking their large ears in an attempt to identify the source of the strange odor. Something said "danger" but the child's scent was nothing they could recognize. Still, their agitation increased and the biggest doe stamped a forefoot and snorted.

The deer began to move away from the source of the unknown danger and out of the little copse of trees in which they were gathered ... straight into the trap Spock had set for them.

As soon as they were more in the open, he stood, drew and loosed all in one smooth, blinding motion. In a heartbeat, the arrow slammed into the side of one of the animals, the impact knocking the doe off her feet with a squawk of surprise and pain.

Instantly, the rest of the little herd exploded into a cacophony of bleats and breaking brush, then the forest was quiet again except for the alarm calls of birds and hoppers scrambling to safety and the fading noise of the stampeding deer as they fled.

Spock loped to the spot where his kill had fallen, Sapel joining him almost immediately. "It's a good one, Papa," the boy said. "Still nice and fat."

"Yes," his father answered, squatting to gently work the arrow out of the deer's side. He only had a dozen or so and always took care to retrieve the precious weapons. The flint arrowhead caught on something and Spock drew his steel-bladed knife to cut a slit through the tissues. After a moment, it came free and he grunted as he examined it. "It must have struck bone. I'll have to replace this point."

"Well, we'll eat good on this for a week," his son replied, not at all upset by the broken arrowhead. "Want me to help you gut it?"

Spock wiped the bloody shaft with a handful of dried leaves, then stuck it back into his quiver. "No. You are doing well on hares and small game, but I do not believe you are ready to butcher a deer."

Sapel sat back on his heels and looked pouty. "You never let me try," he complained.

His father gave him a glance out of the corner of his eye then turned back to the gory business at hand. "Watch for predators," he instructed the boy, ignoring his whining.

For several minutes, Spock worked in silence, slitting open the deer's belly and removing the viscera. If they had been nearer the ship, he would have simply slung the carcass around his shoulders and carried it back to their camp, but he had a twofold purpose for gutting it here. It made for less weight to transport up and down hillsides, and it also gave predators and scavengers something to focus on. If they were feasting and fighting over the guts and organs of the deer, they would be less likely to track down the man and boy as they took their kill back to their homesite.

All while he was working at the bloody task, Spock's mind was turning over the problem of Sapel's _kahs'wan._ He hadn't broached the subject just yet but Sapel's comment now made him decide it was time. "When we get home," he said, "I will allow you to skin and prepare this deer. I want to see how you do with it."

Sapel perked up. "Really? I know how, Papa! I really do!"

"I am doing this for a reason, Sapel," he answered, turning his gaze seriously on his son for a moment. "It is almost time for you to test yourself, to undergo the Vulcan rite of maturity called _kahs'wan_."

"What's that?" the boy asked.

"On Vulcan, when a boy reached the age of seven, he goes into the desert alone for ten days in order to test his ability to survive," Spock explained, continuing to work on the deer. "It is a measure of his strength, resourcefulness and maturity. A boy who has completed the _kahs'wan_ is no longer considered a child. He is old enough to take on more advanced responsibilities, to be betrothed to a mate, and to be considered worthy of speaking in family council."

Sapel was distracted for a moment, watching with interest as Spock removed the doe's reproductive organs. The womb held twin fawns, halfway through their growth, but far from being developed enough to survive. One of them moved feebly. Spock looked up at his son. "What is the right thing to do here?" he asked, waiting for the boy's answer.

"Grant them mercy," Sapel answered soberly. Spock nodded once, satisfied with the reply and bent to quickly slit the fawns' throats, then stopped abruptly as Sapel added, "And ask God to forgive us for taking their lives."

Spock peered up at him. "Why did you say that?" he inquired curiously.

"Mama says it sometimes. She doesn't like having to kill things."

Spock's brow lifted a bit and he nodded once more. "Neither do I, Sapel," he answered quietly. "It is against everything I believe in, but it is necessary for survival. We kill so that we may eat, but I sorely regret being the cause of these deaths." He dispatched the little fetus with a swift stroke, then did the same to the other one, although he was not certain it was still alive.

It didn't take him long to have the doe gutted and trussed. Spock hoisted it onto his shoulders and they started back toward home, leaving the offal and the dead fawns for the scavengers. "It seems harsh, I know," he said as they strode along. "But we are not the only ones who will feed from this kill. Nothing is wasted in nature."

"I know, Papa," Sapel responded. After a moment, he asked, "Tell me some more about this ... uh ... thing."

" _Kahs'wan_ ," his father supplied. "You will be five in a few months. If you were on Vulcan, with its shorter year, you would already be six and preparing to undergo the rite."

"Did you do it?"

"I did indeed," Spock replied.

"Did you pass?"

"Yes."

Sapel pondered this for a moment then ventured, "Were you scared?"

Spock glanced down at the dark-haired boy beside him. "Yes, _cha'i._ I was very scared."

Sapel made no answer to that until they came back into the clearing around the ship. Then he paused thoughtfully and asked, "When do I have to do this, Papa?"

Spock hesitated, not yet ready to attempt to explain what was to come. "This spring or summer. I'm not sure which. But you will know the time. Now, help me hang this carcass up so that it can drain. Then you may begin your work on it."

* * *

Truly cold weather set in during the month they called January, heralding its arrival with a winter storm that mixed sleet and freezing rain, all driven before a fierce north wind. Confined to the ship for several days, Sapel began to get bored and cranky at not being able to play and roam outdoors. Mooch didn't like being inside either, but liked having to go in and out even less, something that was necessary for her toilet habits ... that is until Christine had an inspiration and found a shallow pan stored in the engine compartment and filled it with clean sand. After a couple of mishaps, Mooch had figured out the litter box and happily used it thereafter.

Sapel was still bored, though. The ship was small and there was not much to do within its enclosed space. It was a blessing when Spock managed to get the ship's computer system up and running and, in the process of sorting through the stored data, discovered a gaming program. The instructions were in Romulan, but the games of skill were universal enough to be understood by any humanoid species. Sapel happily retired to his cabin, enthralled by this magical new toy suddenly at his disposal.

When Spock came back into the main room, he found Christine in the galley, cutting up tubers to boil for their evening meal. He had worked diligently on the galley stove and gotten two heating elements operational, allowing her to cook more than one dish at a time. She still had to roast meat over an outdoor hearth fire, something impossible in this weather, but there was prepared venison in the storage cooler that would last them several days and she hoped by that time for a clearing in the winter precipitation.

Watching her for a moment, Spock let his eyes roam over her shapely body, clad in a blue tunic and pants. It pleased him that she could wear the clothing left behind by the ship's former occupant, and he found that the softer, more colorful garments brought out her ripe femininity. Her hair hung nearly to her waist in a thick, dark ponytail, so different from the bleached blonde and elaborate styles she had favored on the _Enterprise_. It was softer, more natural, and her true color so deep as to be nearly the midnight shade of his own.

He liked it that way. He liked what she was wearing, too. Both her rich sable hair and the azure clothing she wore served to bring out the spectacular sapphire blue of her eyes. He was caught by them now as she glanced up at him and smiled, then went back to what she was doing. The silky fabric moved as she moved, following the curve of her buttocks and long line of her legs, stretching across her generous breasts as she reached for something, the neckline cut just low enough that her warm, blushing skin peeked from beneath it.

Spock became aware of a throb of excitement building within him at the sight and he strode softly up behind her. Slipping his arms around her waist and hugging her gently against his body, he bent to nuzzle the base of her neck. She smelled wonderful and he breathed in deeply to experience the perfume of her skin and hair.

For a few seconds, Christine laughed and snuggled back. "My, you're in a good mood this afternoon," she said. "You must have gotten Sapel settled down."

"He is in his quarters playing the computer games I found," Spock answered, his lips teasing up to her jawline and onto her ear. "Why don't we retire to our own quarters for a while?" he asked. "I find myself feeling the desire to play as well."

She chuckled but pulled away from him . "Not now, Spock," she replied. "I'm right in the middle of making supper."

He drew her back insistently. "It will keep. I burn for thee, wife. My heart becomes flame with thy nearness."

For a moment, she was silent then she turned to face him. His arms still enfolding her, he caught her lips and kissed her, long and hungrily. She allowed it, but when he lifted his head, she said, "Spock ... we need to talk about this."

"I do not want to talk," he answered and she noted that there was a flush to his skin tone and his pupils were dilated slightly. He kissed her again. "I wish to be within thee, wife," he whispered against her lips. "I hunger to join my body with thine. _T'ckh tolol qe i'kisha, aduna_..." He bent to her again, but she turned her face away to avoid his mouth.

"That's what I want to talk about," she responded. She attempted to pull out of his embrace, but he held her firmly and caught her lips once more, devouring her mouth, his tongue demanding entrance. She could feel his erection pressing against her and she knew that she had to take control at once. She got her hands against his shoulders and pushed. " _Kroykah!_ " she snapped.

He practically jumped back away from her, the ancient Vulcan command jolting him back to the present. Bewildered, he stared down at her, his breath still coming at an accelerated rate. "What is it, wife?" he asked.

"Spock ... I need to know. Are you going into _pon farr_?" she asked, her blue eyes searching his face.

"No. That is still several months away," he responded. "I merely find myself needing you this afternoon. Do you no longer desire to copulate with me?" His expression was decidedly one of hurt rejection, something she didn't see there very often.

Christine smiled and reached up to caress his face, noting that he needed a shave. "On most days, my love, I'd already have you in bed, but today is not a good day." He continued to stare at her, puzzled, and she went on, "It's the wrong time of the month, Spock. I'm mid-cycle and that means I'm fertile right now. We can't risk having sex for a couple more days. I don't want to get pregnant."

He paused and seemed to take stock of the situation. Then he straightened and she could almost see him regain control of himself. "Of course," he answered in a normal voice. "I should have realized. Your pheromones are stimulating the mating urge in me. And this close to _pon farr_ , the urge is stronger than usual." He looked down at her and one eyebrow twitched up. "I did warn you that my libido would be increasing as the time comes closer." But the subliminal scent of those pheromones were very powerful and he was not yet completely free of his arousal. He peered at her and said speculatively, "There are a number of ways we might satisfy our desires other than vaginal penetration."

She smiled wryly and shook her head. "I don't dare tempt you, husband of mine. I'm afraid that when you got going, you might not know where to stop!"

"Christine, I am fully capable of controlling my sexual functions. I can regulate when and where I ejaculate, you know."

To his surprise, she laughed and a skeptical look settled over her features. "Unh-unh. I've heard every line in the book, including 'But, honey, you can trust me. I'll pull out before I come!' You know as well as I do that there are enough active sperm in pre-ejaculate to fertilize an ovum ... and it only takes one to do the job. No way, mister. You're just going to have to grit your teeth and wait until I say so."

She turned her back on him and started to resume her vegetable preparation. Without warning, he grasped her arm and jerked her back around to face him.

His features had transformed into a mask of fury, his eyes blazing. "Wife, you will attend me!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

Christine gasped in shock, backed against the counter, genuine fear overcoming her. Then, just as abruptly, Spock released her and stepped back, dismay and horror replacing the anger. "Christine..." he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean that! Please ... please forgive me!" All the blood had drained from his face and he looked as if he might faint.

"Spock... what..."

He squeezed his eyes shut, then covered them with one trembling hand. "My hormonal balance is fluctuating. I must meditate and gain control of this. Please forgive me, Christine. Please!"

Devastated by the incident, he turned and strode across the common room toward their cabin. She heard the lock click as the door slid closed behind him.

* * *

For a long moment, Christine stood staring at the bedroom door, wondering if she should go after him or leave him alone to work it out. She decided on the latter. Spock could be an intensely private man and this looked to be something she couldn't help him with ... at least not yet. But it had set her internal alarms jangling and she came to the conclusion that it was time to begin preparations for a time none of them would be able to avoid.

Turning back to her meal preparations, she finished cutting up the tubers and set them over a low heat to cook. Then she rinsed and dried her hands and made her way to her son's quarters. He was sitting on his bunk, diligently working on a computerized game on his viewscreen, concentrating on moving colored blocks into a certain symmetry before invading circles destroyed them.

Christine knocked softly then stepped inside. "Sapel? We need to talk, son."

"Just a minute, Mama," he responded, never taking his eyes away from the screen. "I'm on level 8 and I've figured out a way through it."

"Finish your game later. This is important."

He didn't reply, maneuvering his blocks furiously, and finally Christine frowned a little and said, "Computer. Halt and save game, then close."

"Affirmative," the computer's voice answered and immediately complied. Spock had long ago reprogrammed the voice interface for English and Christine had been thankful for it several times. It would have been awkward if she'd had to struggle through the Romulan voiceprints.

Sapel protested with a loud outraged cry, but his mother ignored it. Instead, she sat down beside him and said, "I'm sorry to interrupt your game, but what I have to tell you is important and I want you to pay close attention to me."

The boy could now feel his mother's distress and was immediately serious. "What's wrong, Mama?" he asked.

Christine hesitated for a moment, trying to decide on the best way to start. Finally, she decided to just say it in a straight forward manner. "Sapel, I need to talk to you about what it means to be Vulcan and to be male."

"You mean about having to do the _kahs'wan_ thing? Papa already told me about that."

"Well, that's part of it, but it's a lot more involved than that," she answered. "I don't think Papa would tell you all of it because it makes him very uncomfortable to talk about it. It's the way he was brought up. On Vulcan, there are a lot of topics people just don't discuss because it's too embarrassing to them. But Humans are a lot more open about those subjects and we've learned that it's better to talk about them and know about them than it is to hide them and get in trouble."

She had Sapel's curiosity aroused now. He had no idea what she was talking about just yet, but his attention was now focused on her face.

Christine went on. "Sapel, you know that when our bedroom door is closed, you're not to bother us. Your Papa and I are having private time that adults like to have. It is very, very personal and not a time when children should be involved. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Mama," he answered, still looking a bit puzzled. "I know about that stuff. Papa explained it to me and why I'm supposed to be quiet and stay away from your room."

"Okay. Then you understand that a husband and wife enjoy being in bed together and getting very close and loving. What I doubt your Papa has told you, though, is that for a Vulcan male, once he's an adult, every seven years he has to go to bed with his wife, whether he wants to or not."

Sapel blinked, bewildered. "Mama ... you mean Papa doesn't want to sleep with you anymore?"

Christine had to chuckle a bit. "No, honey, your Papa and I love each other very much and we love to sleep close to each other. What I'm saying is that, for a Vulcan man, there is a thing that happens to him every seven years. It changes his blood chemicals and his body makes him find a mate if he doesn't already have one. If he's married, then he must be with his wife. It's a condition that has evolved in Vulcans to make sure there are always children to carry on the race. The Vulcans call it _pon farr_. The Time of Mating."

"And ... you're saying Papa will get like this?" Sapel ventured.

"Yes, that's exactly right. He can't help it and he doesn't like being like that, but he doesn't have any choice," Christine explained. "You will notice as time goes on that he may get short tempered and won't want you around."

"Oh, I won't knock on your door or anything!" Sapel hurriedly assured her. "I promise!"

His mother sighed. "Sweetheart, it's going to be more than that. Papa is going to get very, very angry. All of the time. And he's going to want to be with Mama all of the time, too. And I'm very afraid that I'm going to get the same way. Because of our mindbond, I'm going to begin to feel what Papa is feeling and acting the same way he does. Once the condition begins, it will probably take about a week to run its course."

Christine hesitated again then said, "Sapel, when the time is fully upon your father, it may be too dangerous for you to stay here. He will be completely irrational and may try to harm you. If we were on Vulcan or someplace else, you would be taken care of by friends or relatives, but here we have to figure out a way to keep you safe." She took a breath. "Papa thinks that this will be the time for you to undergo your _kahs'wan._ He doesn't expect you to go out and undergo some horrible challenge or anything, just leave the ship until the _pon farr_ runs its course."

"But ... where will I go, Mama?" the boy asked helplessly.

"Well, I may have found the answer to that," she replied with a reassuring smile. "A while back I found a little cave not far from here that would be a good shelter. We can stock it with what you'll need for a week or so and then when everything is all over, we'll come get you. Mooch will be with you, of course, and you can look on this as an adventure. How does that sound?"

Sapel considered it. "Okay, I guess. I don't think I'll like it, though."

She patted him encouragingly. "Well, we'll work on getting things fixed up for you. Now, I've got to check on those tubers. I think they might be about ready to eat."

She got up and started to leave, but was halted by Sapel's querulous voice. "Mama? Will I get the _pon farr_ , too?" he asked, his dark eyes holding a hint of fear.

It stopped her in her tracks and she was struck by how Vulcan her son suddenly looked, with his pointed ears peeking through the thatch of black hair and his father's deep mahogany eyes beneath upslanted brows.

"I don't know, baby," she answered honestly. "I really don't know. You're three-quarters Human, so you may not go through it. Or you may be fully an adult before you do. Your Papa was 36 when he first experienced it. I think full Vulcans first go through it at about age 21 or 22. It's a long, long time away, in any case."

He nodded and she started out again, but once more he stopped her. "Mama? When I do have it ... who will my wife be?"

Christine felt her heart sink and it took her a moment longer to reply. "I don't know that, either, sweetheart. I guess that's just something we'll have to figure out when it happens." She smiled a little, although it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe we'll be home by then."

She ducked out and escaped back to her kitchen. Sapel sat quietly for a few seconds, then commented softly to the empty room, "I thought we _were_ home."

* * *

Christine tapped lightly on the door. "Spock? Can I come in? I want to go to bed now."

It was a minute before she heard the lock click and then the door slid open, admitting her. She closed it behind her. Spock was walking back toward the meditation area he'd put together, a quiet corner with a folded blanket on the floor and a small table to hold an animal tallow candle. He was clad only in his loin cloth and leggings and she could see that the muscles in his back were still tight.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your meditation," she said quietly. "But it's late and I'm tired. Will it bother you if I take a shower?"

"No," he answered in a slightly dull voice.

"I'll be quiet, I promise," she replied. As he knelt back down before the little table, she went into the bathroom and undressed, then twisted her long hair up and pinned it. Turning on the shower, she let it run for a few seconds then tested it and stepped under the spray. It still felt unbelievably marvelous to have hot water at her disposal but tonight she didn't spend more than ten minutes enjoying it. The ship's water heating system was somewhat limited and Sapel had already had his bath. Christine wanted to make sure that there was enough left for Spock ... providing he finished his meditations and took a shower tonight.

He was still kneeling before his little shrine when she came out and turned the bathroom light off. Only the candle lit the bedroom area and she could see it reflected off the angles and planes of his face, his eyes closed and his fingers steepled before him.

She had donned the silky apricot sleeping gown she'd found in a drawer and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hairbrush through the length of her waist-length dark hair. All the time, her eyes stayed on the silent form of her husband and she couldn't help but wonder what she could do to ease his discomfort.

He made no move, however, and she finally slid between the sheets and settled down to sleep. It was a good deal later when he slipped into bed beside her, lying on his back and being careful not to touch her. But his presence awakened her nevertheless and she reached out to cover his hand with hers.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly. "Any better?"

"I have regained control of myself," he answered. "I am sorry that I spoke to you the way I did. I am very much afraid that my ... emotional state may be unpredictable as the time approaches."

"I know," she assured him. "Spock, I'm sorry, too. It was wrong of me, as your wife, to refuse your needs."

"No! No, it wasn't!" he protested, turning to look at her, his eyes haunted. "Your concerns are quite legitimate and logical! You have every right to regulate your reproductive matters. I should have been more sensitive to your feelings and maintained more awareness of myself in order to understand what was happening."

Christine smiled warmly. "Okay, so we're both wrong and we're both right. Let's let it go. Come here, sweetheart. My needs right now are to snuggle up close to you."

She tugged gently at his hand and he rolled over to face her. Lying on her side, he could see the way her breasts pressed together and moved beneath the light-orange silk. He longed to bury his face in the tantalizing cleavage it revealed and kiss the wonderful softness of her breasts, but knew that he didn't dare. It would kindle the barely controlled flame burning within him. Instead, he breathed in her scent and sighed. "You are still incredibly tantalizing to me," he murmured. "I fear that all my meditations may be for nothing."

"Well, as you said, there are lots of ways to satisfy those desires," she answered, stroking his thick dark hair and trailing her fingertips down the edge of his ear.

He reached up and caught her hand. "And that is a sure way to arouse those desires once again," he warned her. "It would be advisable not to touch me in that manner."

She chuckled. "Then where _should_ I touch you?" she asked.

"Merely the fact that you are in contact with me is enough," he answered. "You will test my strength of will."

"Hmmmm ... maybe," she mused, again stroking his ear. "Then again maybe we'll just employ one of those other methods of satisfaction." She let her hand drop down to trail along his shoulder, then down his side to touch his hip. "Ahh, just as I thought. You're not wearing anything. Isn't that tempting fate right there?"

"You know I have only my loin cloth and I dislike wearing it in bed," he responded. "I find it very uncomfortable."

"I know. Still, knowing that you're lying there naked tantalizes me." She leaned forward until their lips met lightly.

After they parted, he quirked an eyebrow up at her and said, "I believe we should stop right now. You are quite correct that you would likely conceive if we made love tonight and I, too, would prefer to wait on that until we have no choice." He paused and his voice softened. "You realize that the chances that you will become pregnant during the _pon farr_ are extremely high."

"Yes. You told me last time that the main thing that ends it is the wife conceiving a child." Her gaze dropped away from his and her lashes hooded her eyes for a moment.

"What is it, _t'hy'la_?" he asked, noticing her change in mood.

She looked back up at him and attempted a smile. "Oh, I'm just being silly. Pay me no mind."

"I will not," he insisted. "Something troubles you and I ask that you share your thoughts with me."

This time she did smile. "That's the trouble with being married to a Vulcan," she said. "You can't keep anything to yourself!" He merely gazed at her expectantly and she finally sighed and looked down again. "Okay ... the thing is ... I don't want to have another baby. I'm ... I'm afraid something would happen to it if I did and ... and I don't think I could stand it again."

"My wife," he whispered and drew her into his arms, holding her. She clung to him for a long time, then he said softly, "I cannot guarantee that nothing will happen, beloved. I can only say that I will protect you and our children to the last breath that I take. I will do everything in my power to make sure you are all safe and comfortable."

"I know you will, Spock," she answered, still snuggling into the warmth of his chest. "I just keep seeing..."

"Do not think on that," he replied, stroking his fingers through her hair. "None of us could have known what would happen. Nor likely prevented it." But his thoughts were running over and over, chiding him, _You should have stayed with them. You shouldn't have left them. You should have stayed_.

Spock took a deep breath and hugged his wife closer. "In any case, I do not think we will be able to prevent another pregnancy. Once we slip into the _plak tow_ , we will have no control over what happens between us. I will not emerge from the fever until my body detects the chemical change in yours denoting that a conception has occurred."

"I know. I'm prepared for another pregnancy, Spock. I just don't really want one."

He stroked her hair once more. "Perhaps it will be better here in the ship. It is cleaner, safer and more protected. No animals can get in and you'll be able to have our baby here in a real bed rather than on the dirt floor of a cave."

"Yes, I know..." She was quiet for a while, still in his arms, and beginning to feel sleepy again in the embrace of love he provided. "I talked to Sapel tonight. Told him some of what was going to happen. He'll probably have questions for you."

"Hmmm, no doubt," Spock's deep voice rumbled softly. "I hope I am able to answer them better than my father answered mine. He sent me to the Elders with my questions. I was too intimidated by them to ask them much."

Christine chuckled. "I learned about the birds and the bees from an older cousin, Frankie. They were visiting from California and our folks had gone to a show. He and I were left home alone and, well... it opened my eyes considerably!"

Spock drew back, shocked. "You had an incestuous affair with your cousin?" he demanded, all his conservative proprieties completely outraged.

"Oh, don't get in a tizzy," Christine answered. "He was a very distant cousin, barely related. I was fourteen and he was sixteen and our folks should have known better than to put temptation in the way of two kids with their hormones in warp drive. No harm done and I never saw him again after they left."

She looked up at her husband's face, loving the angles and lines etched there, the shadow of his day old beard, the way his hair had grown back into a shaggy, coal black cap that fell to his eyebrows, parted around his ears, sat around the clean, muscular lines of his bare shoulders. She caressed his cheek and whispered, "No one has ever made me feel the way you do, Spock. I knew it the moment I first set eyes on you and there's never been anyone else since."

" _i'Aduna_ ," he whispered back and leaned down to capture her lips in a warm, heart-felt kiss. She returned it with fervor, but then he lifted his head and peered down at her, a little smile playing about his lips and eyes. "And now, my darling wife, you should go to sleep and let me do the same. Because if we follow this path of thought, you will find yourself the mother of another child before the time is right!"

* * *

" _Kh'rat!_ " Spock cursed as the deer disappeared into the underbrush. The ambush had gone well until the last possible second when the animal had flinched aside even as he'd loosed his arrow at it. The shaft had lodged in the hindquarters and the doe had crashed into the thicket and was gone.

Sapel came running to join his father. "Did you get it?" he asked excitedly. "I couldn't see!"

"I hit it, but it was not a killing shot," Spock replied. He trotted to the point where he'd last seen his prey and searched, but there was no body to be found. "We will have to track it and find it," he sighed. "I sincerely hope that it does not go far. It will be sundown before long."

The day's hunt had been long and fruitless until they'd flushed a small band of deer from their hiding place. Now they were faced with following the blood trail through the woods until they found the wounded animal and put it out of its misery.

Leaving their bows strung, but with no arrows nocked, the two set off deeper into the scrubby forest. It wasn't long before the broken branches and bloody spots on leaves led them onto a game trail. The blood got thicker, indicating that their quarry had slowed her headlong flight, but now the way was easier for her and she was still well ahead of them. They followed the pathway as it meandered between the trees and Spock realized that it was leading them eastward, down toward the savannahs. He had studiously avoided this area, for it was the territory of the lions and he had no wish to confront such formidable killers. But he couldn't allow the wounded deer to die slowly in pain either.

They walked for over an hour and still seemed no closer to the wounded doe. Now and then they would come across a spot where she had evidently stopped and licked her injury, for the blood dropped in little puddles before it went on in dribbles and spots.

Sapel was getting tired and his attention had long since wandered from the trail that Spock was intently following. Thinking about other things, he asked, "Papa, what if we don't find it before dark?"

"Then we shall turn back," Spock answered, his eyes searching for spoor. "Lions or some other predator will take her, but I would prefer that we find her instead."

"Do you think I'll have to hunt like this when I do my _kahs'wan_?"

"I doubt it. We will stock sufficient food for you for the days you will be away."

Sapel was silent again for a few minutes then asked, "Papa? Are you gonna go crazy again like before? I mean when you get the _pon farr_ thing?"

Spock halted in his tracks and turned to look down at his son. "I do not think this is the appropriate time for this discussion," he said, feeling discomfited at the sudden change of subject. "It is not something I can explain in short answers."

"Are you and Mama gonna ... you know ... be like the animals in the fall?"

Spock's brows lifted slightly. "If you mean rut ... I ... I don't think I'd put it quite that way." The Vulcan was becoming a bit alarmed, not ready at all for these questions. "But ... yes, it's a time when ... when a Vulcan and his wife ... come together many times."

Sapel looked thoughtful. "Mama said you'd be mad a lot and so would she. What will you be mad about?"

With a sigh, Spock decided Sapel wasn't going to let him avoid this discussion. He knelt down so that he was more on his son's level. "Sapel, it is not something that Vulcans like to discuss because it is so very personal," he said. "If we were on Vulcan, you would be sent to the Eldest Ones in the clan because they are the wisest and can best answer questions. However, we do not have that choice." He stopped and swallowed to wet his dry throat. "The _pon farr_ is ... um ... a change in the chemical balance in a male's body, the chemicals that control the need to have sex with a mate. That need puts us in an irritable mood and it just gets worse and worse until we finally mate so much that our bodies wear themselves out. It is a very terrible time to go through and a Vulcan dreads when his time will come. The burning in our bodies drives us into madness for a while and we can't control ourselves." Spock paused and his gaze turned inward. "You are still too young to have reached a need like that, so I don't expect you to understand," he said softly.

"You mean like when my penis gets hard sometimes and I feel like I have to go to the bathroom but I can't?" Sapel asked.

"Yes, something like that," his father answered. "Only it's like your penis stays hard for days and you feel like you have to urinate constantly. For an adult male, the only cure is to have sex frequently during that time." He hesitated. "Do you understand what sex is, Sapel?"

The boy was quiet again, thinking. "It's when a male sticks his penis in a female and bounces on her, right?"

"To an extent. When he inserts his penis into a female and moves his hindquarters back and forth, it makes his penis swell up with blood until it is very hard. It feels very, very good to him and to his mate and finally he has a reaction in which a special liquid comes out of his penis into her vagina. It is not urine. It is called semen and it can start a baby growing inside his mate."

"Is that what you're gonna do to Mama?"

"Yes," Spock answered, hating to have to be so blunt. He was extremely uncomfortable with this discussion but Sapel needed to be told the truth.

Sapel looked a little surprised. "Is Mama gonna have another baby then?" he asked.

"Quite probably," Spock answered. "But we shall see. Now, does that answer some of your questions?" The boy nodded and Spock rose to his feet. "Very well, let us continue this hunt before the light fails us."

Grateful that the topic was closed for the moment, Spock resumed his tracking of the wounded deer. Another half hour of walking brought them out onto a rocky prominence overlooking the plains. The blood trail continued down it and Spock concentrated on finding the deer's spoor on the stony ground.

Suddenly he froze in his tracks and reached back to halt Sapel, keeping him behind him. "Be still," he whispered in a barely audible voice.

Sapel likewise froze, but tried to see what had startled his father. Then he saw it. Two of the big marsupial lions were feasting on the partially stripped carcass of the deer. Sapel could see the stump of the arrow still protruding from her haunch.

In her weakened condition, she had been easy prey to the hunters and the predators now growled at each other as they ripped chunks of meat away or cracked bones between their massive molars.

"Back up slowly," Spock whispered. "Quietly."

Sapel began a cautious retreat, still facing the lions. Spock did the same, very slowly unslinging his bow and pulling an arrow from his quiver. His eyes never leaving the carnivores, he said in a murmur, "Nock an arrow. Be ready in case they charge." Sapel complied, following his father's example as they continued to back gradually away. "You watch behind us. Let me shoot, though."

"I can do it, Papa," Sapel mumbled, not being argumentative but merely stating a fact.

"No," Spock answered. He had his bow ready and partially drawn, watching the lions intently. Sapel was nocked and alert as well, his gaze sweeping behind them.

After a few moments, it seemed that they were far enough away that they could turn and get away from the feeding lions.

Spock was just swinging away when a roar split the air to the rear and to one side of them. A third lion, smelling the blood, came charging out of the brush and found Spock and Sapel between him and the kill. Reacting immediately, Spock yanked his bow up and yelled, "Sapel! Drop!"

But the boy didn't drop. He was that very instant pulling his bowstring back with all his might and letting fly his ready arrow. It took Spock less than a second to take it all in and then his own arrow was following the path of his son's. Both slammed into the lion's chest and side at nearly the same time. The predator screamed with outrage and pain, the momentum of the hits knocking it backwards.

"Again!!" Spock snapped, already fitting a second shaft against his bowstring. Sapel was nearly as fast and they spun in anticipation of a charge by the other two.

But the commotion had startled the two feeding lions and they had disappeared, leaving the carcass where it lay. For a long moment, the two Vulcans stood ready, but when nothing else attacked them, Spock gradually relaxed.

"Stay ready," he instructed his son. "They may come back." When the area remained quiet, he said, "Okay, let's move away from here. There are sure to be many predators and scavengers gathering here in a very short time!"

He shepherded Sapel ahead of him and they carefully retraced their steps back up the game path. The lion they had shot lay dead beside the trail. Quickly, Spock drew his hunting knife and cut the arrows free. They were too precious to leave. Sticking them into his quiver still bloody, he hurried Sapel away from the scene. Even as they reached the cover of heavy brush, they could hear the yipping and quarreling of the first scavengers to reach the site.

* * *

Spring came earlier here in the more southerly latitudes and it seemed no time at all before the first timid greens were pushing their way up through the yellow and brown thatch of the previous year and the deciduous trees were beginning to sprout buds and early blossoms. The limey soils covering the hills erupted into a riot of wild flowers, vast fields of blues, oranges, yellows and whites mingling into a crazy quilt pattern as far as the eye could see.

Sapel took to spending whole days away from his parents, getting comfortable in his little cave and making it his own. It was too small for an adult to enter without difficulty, but perfect for someone his size. The crack widened out a little at the back, forming a tiny room that was hidden by a protruding formation of limestone rock. He stashed his supplies and bedding there, arranging things how he wanted and enjoying his private abode.

At first Christine was worried about him being away, but Spock reassured her. Sapel wasn't that far and was perfectly safe. He had proven to his father that he was resourceful and brave. Moreover, he was doing well in preparing for the _kahs'wan_ and it would do him good to be alone for a while before the time came when he would have to be.

The afternoon was warm and sunny as Spock and Christine waded through the sea of blue flowers, stirring up bee pollen and a few early pollinators in the process. The bees here did not sting and the couple had no fear of walking in their midst. Indeed, it all added to the mystical quality of their surroundings. Christine had unbound her hair and let it flow freely in the pleasant air, its long sable length shining in the sun. The freshness of the day exhilarated her and she danced away from him, whirling giddily.

Spock stood watching her, enchanted, and began to take notice of the way her body moved underneath her soft yellow dress, taken from the wardrobe of the Romulan woman. It fit Christine snugly and her breasts strained against the cloth, swaying without the encumbrance of undergarments. The fuller skirt swirled around her bare legs, offering quick glimpses of creamy buttocks and firm thighs.

The fire that simmered almost continually within his blood began to assert itself and he found his body hardening with the growing need that came more and more often now. Its primal drumbeat began to pound in his ears as he watched her supple movements. The heat within him grew to an inferno as he watched.

Christine felt Spock's need begin to echo through their bond and she danced closer, her movements becoming more sensual and provocative. Running her hands up her torso, she cupped her breasts and pressed them together, as if offering them to him, then spun away, flinging up her skirt to tease him with a peek at her naked buttocks.

He reached for her, but she eluded him, staying just out of reach. His face had darkened with arousal now and, gazing at the obvious evidence of his excitement, she paused and almost let herself be caught, then laughed and darted away. He was panting with the increased demands of his body and stopped to strip off his leather tunic, flinging it away without notice. Shirtless, his whole body appeared flushed as he stalked her once again. She made another feint away from him, then squealed as he lunged and seized her arm, yanking her back against him.

Without speaking, he pushed her down onto her hands and knees and dropped to his knees behind her. She didn't fight but surrendered willingly, her own arousal high, her heart pounding in excitement.

Holding her with one hand, he reached down with the other and yanked his loincloth away, freeing the engorged shaft. He burned with an intensity that only the onset of _pon farr_ could surpass and his organs were beginning to increase in size, swelling as testosterone pumped into his bloodstream at a rate higher than normal.

With a groan, he mounted her, shoving his throbbing erection deep with a single lunge. She gasped at the ecstasy of it, her own body craving his penetration with a hunger that consumed her. Clasping her around the waist, he pounded into her, the compulsion to mate nearly overwhelming him and feeding back to him full force through their bond.

With a cry, he came, pausing only a moment before the urge seized him again and he resumed his furious thrusts. Beneath him, she moaned and panted, pushing her hips up and back to meet him, the rough compelling force of his copulation driving her nearly out of her mind with impending climax. She orgasmed but he didn't stop, her emotional overload only serving to spur him onward.

Holding her tight, he pounded her with an almost animal ferocity and she responded with rapturous groans, again building to a peak. This time, they synced together and, when she screamed and went over the top, he slammed into her with incredible strength, his own climax erupting within her for an endless time.

It seemed that way, in any case, but after a long pause, they both seemed to weaken and collapsed on their sides into the bed of flowers. The fire had passed and they lay enervated in the aftermath of the wild sexual interlude.

"I thought for a while that was it," Christine said, spooned into his embrace. "That it was time."

"No," he assured her, still breathless. "It will not end so quickly. But it will be soon. Before the month is out, I think."

He held her close. "We mustn't stray too far from the ship now. It will be difficult if it comes upon us like this."

"I'll keep an eye on you. When you start throwing bowls of soup at me, I'll know it's time to go wait for you in bed," she chuckled affectionately.

"I will endeavor not to express my insanity with food," he smiled back and kissed her neck. "Now, let's get out of this flower patch. I'm beginning to itch! And I think these small yellow ones have thorns!"

* * *

The mountain sheep had baked all night and all day buried in the pit of coals covered over with earth. Now it had reached the peak of tenderness and the family had gathered around the uncovered carcass for an outdoor supper of roasted mutton, vegetables cooked to the side of the barbecue pit, and a rough sort of pie Christine had concocted out of dried fruit they had left over from the winter rations and flour she had ground from the grains they had. It was sweetened with honey and to the three of them tasted better than the fanciest gourmet confection available on Terra. In fact, it was the fanciest gourmet confection available on Terra Two.

Afterwards, absolutely sated, they lay back on their blankets around the fire, gazing up into the star strewn night sky, Spock lazily pointing out stars and explaining magnitudes and other astronomical fine points to his son, who snuggled beside him.

In the process, Christine began to pick out patterns and form them into constellations, giving them the names of animals or other things.

"You are being highly illogical," Spock informed his wife in a contented voice. "They are simply random formations, nothing more."

"Oh, don't be a party poop," she answered back, smiling. "Vulcans are no fun at all!"

He looked over at her and one eyebrow went up in answer. But he didn't reply to her playful verbal jab. Instead, he was caught by the way she looked in the firelight, the golden radiance outlining her face and figure, accentuating her curves and femininity. It was especially obvious in the way it highlighted the generous globes of her breasts, the laced top she wore allowing a good deal of cleavage to show as she lay on her side, her head propped on one hand.

"Sapel," Spock said in a low, rough voice, "go to bed."

"Huh?" the boy answered, startled by the sudden change in his father. "But I'm not sleepy."

Spock rounded on him in fury. "I said go to bed!" he roared. "I don't want you here!"

He made a move toward his son to physically enforce his order, but Sapel had already scrambled up and away. Christine had started up, too, taken by surprise as well. But at the same time, she felt the fire of Spock's arousal slam into her through their bondlink and her body responded with immediate excitement.

"Go to bed, Sapel!" she echoed, her eyes locked onto her husband's.

Hurrying to obey, the boy disappeared into the ship, Mooch at his heels, and the hatch slid shut behind him. He'd been warned about Spock's lightning mood changes and did not argue, fearing what his father might do in his increasing states of irrationality.

Spock and Christine had already forgotten him, the imminent onset of _pon farr_ thundering through their veins like a firestorm. The full _plak tow_ was still a few days away, but their mutual need to mate was growing stronger and stronger with each passing hour. It took only a spark for it to ignite and now all either could think of was the other.

Spock crawled on his hands and knees over to where his wife lay back on her blanket, awaiting him, and immediately straddled her hips, leaning down to bury his face between her tantalizing breasts. He kissed and ran his tongue over the top of them, his fingers fumbling with the lacings of her blouse, and then pulling it apart when he had it sufficiently undone. Pushing the leather garment aside, he freed one breast and bent to it hungrily, slipping his hand underneath to lift it clear, teasing the taut nipple with his tongue and lips before sucking the whole rosy tip into his mouth and working it roughly against the roof of his mouth.

Christine groaned and arched against him, burying her fingers in the obsidian wealth of his hair, holding him in place against her. The bond fed her need and she tried to spread her legs more for him. Without releasing her breast, he shifted position so that he knelt between her thighs and not astride them. This allowed her to undulate sensuously beneath him, her pelvis searching for contact with his.

As she writhed, he bared her other breast and switched to it, hardly missing a beat in his suckling and licking. Then he went back and forth between them for several minutes, pushing them hard together to bring her extended nipples closer to each other. At last, backing off to look at her, he felt an increased pulse of excitement at the sight of her blouse pulled open and her generous breasts naked and flushed from his ministrations.

Moving down between her legs, he stripped away her loincloth and spread her thighs apart, breathing in the odor of her womanly scent, her pheromones sending his maleness screaming for fulfillment. His erection ached as it pushed against his own loincloth, already pounding with full engorgement at her nearness. But he lowered his head and drank in her aroma first, then ran his tongue between the folds of her feminine center, tasting her, kissing and sucking at her eagerly, bringing himself to a peak of excitement that threatened to explode before he was inside her. She was already there, moaning as the first of her climaxes shuddered through her at his touch.

He didn't prolong the game for more than a few minutes. He couldn't. The need was too insistent, too strong, and he raised up on his knees and yanked the leather strip from between his legs, exposing himself to the cool night air.

Without speaking, he dropped between her wide spread legs and shoved the heated rod fully within her. And climaxed immediately, groaning as the seed ripped from his vitals and erupted into her. Christine clutched him tightly, legs around his hips, nails sunk into the leather of his shirt, nearly biting through to his skin.

The orgasm did nothing to satiate him, only took the instant edge off his arousal, and he began to pump into her with vigor, his erection as hard as ever. She relaxed a bit beneath him, but only to settle into the luxurious state of receiving his thrusts fully, the sensation of rapture easily building up again as she felt him beat against her cervix, so deep were his lunges. He too quickly felt the fire within roaring back up to a peak and it didn't take long before he was slamming into her with a brutality that almost literally knocked the breath from her lungs with every impact of his pelvis against hers.

The simultaneous orgasm that blasted through both of them nearly sent Christine reeling into unconsciousness as her heart accelerated into a hard, rapid beat and her body screamed for oxygen. Her hips pushed up against his shuddering body, fully open to take him as deeply as possible, and she felt the supernova of physical sensation as his body spasmed and spewed his essence into her like a blast of white-hot plasma.

They hung on that knife-edge of complete rapture for a long, long moment, then both relaxed as one, Spock sinking down to lie in her welcoming arms. She embraced him and kissed his sweaty temple, but still he did not pull out of her and she could feel that his penis, although softened, was still firm. She tingled with the aftershocks of orgasm, her body reacting to his continued presence.

"It's not over," he murmured against her brow, his eyes closed in near exhaustion. "I still feel the fire burn through my blood." As if to prove himself correct, she felt him begin to throb inside her as his erection hardened again.

"Do you want to go inside to the bed?" she asked, stroking the dark hair back off his forehead.

"No, I do not wish to withdraw from you," he answered. "I must be inside you. I ... I need..."

He pulsed within her body and she could feel his body begin to heat once more. "Then let me do this one," she said and shoved firmly at his shoulder. Obligingly, he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, still joined. Straddling him, she shifted into a more comfortable position, a soft moan of contentment issuing from her throat as his rapidly engorging manhood sank deeply into her once again.

His two previous ejaculations seeped out to coat his shaft slickly and it soothed the slightly abraded feel of his hardness so tight within her yet again. Squirming for a few seconds to set herself, Christine paused and rested her palms against his bared chest, then began to rock her hips gently against his. Through their bondlink, she could feel his need begin to flow into her, the beginnings of _pon farr_ igniting a hunger in him that possessed her as well.

It didn't take long before her tempo picked up and she was riding him with an eagerness that belied the fact of their previous climaxes. He was breathing hard, his eyes locked on hers, the dark depths like the black layer on moving lava, hiding the red-hot intensity underneath. He clutched at her bouncing, exposed breasts, massaging and squeezing the nipples, pulling at them and pressing until the near-pain sent her into the next level of excitement. Pulling her forward, he raised his head and awkwardly sucked on the deep rose protrusions, hard enough to make her gasp and increase her thrusts against him.

Releasing her, he lay back, letting his hands slide down to her hips, holding her against him as she reared back, lost in the ecstasy of their growing climax. She massaged her own breasts, then one hand moved down her stomach and two of her fingers slid between the wet, puffy folds of her labia, rubbing vigorously.

The sight caused an explosion of excitement to surge through him and he inserted one finger to move in conjunction with hers. All the elements of orgasm slammed together in stunning culmination — the feel of his finger and hers together massaging her swollen clitoris, his heated erection buried to the hilt in her gripping, hungry depths, the insistent rhythm of their bodies moving as one. With a desperate gasp, he launched himself up beneath her and burst forth in rapturous release once more, his hot thick torrent pumping ceaselessly to fill her and flow out of her to coat them both in his engulfing heat.

This time, both were satisfied when the rapture lulled. He lay nearly senseless beneath her, his arms trembling around her as she lay forward to kiss and embrace him. "I love you," she whispered against his lips.

"I cherish thee more than life," he answered, folding her against his chest and returning her kiss fully. "My beloved..."

He opened his eyes to gaze up at her in adoration and, as he did so, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

He shifted his gaze to see what it might be ... and sat upright to stare at the heavens, Christine still astride his hips.

Directly overhead, a tiny point of light streaked through the stars like a burning meteorite, but then disappeared in a rainbow-hued flash that was barely visible. Then all was still again.

Spock shoved at Christine's shoulder. "Get off! Let me up!" he ordered in a frantic voice.

She hurriedly moved and he vaulted to his feet, heedless of his half-clothed condition. His complete attention was on the sky overhead.

"A ship!" he whispered, almost to himself. "That was a ship!"

"What?" She scrambled up, searching in vain. "Where?"

"It's gone now," he said, never taking his eyes from the stars.

"Maybe you just saw a shooting star," she suggested.

"No! I know what I saw!" he snapped back. "It was a ship ... Going to warp!"

She searched until her eyes ached. "There's nothing there now," she said in despair. "But, oh, Spock! Do you think they'll pick up our signal?"

"I don't know," he answered, then looked down to find his loincloth and quickly step back into it, seating it into place.

She did likewise and then closed and relaced her tunic. He was already staring overhead once more.

Then, before she could act, he snatched up his hunting spear that lay nearby, always ready at hand, and darted away into the darkness, bounding up the slope to the top of the hill that towered above them.

"Spock?" she called after him, but he didn't answer and she only heard the fading sound of his footsteps receding into the night.

* * *

Hurt and angry, Sapel marched into his cabin and locked the door behind him. His first impulse was to throw himself onto his bunk and let his bewilderment and wounded feelings out in the form of tears. Then his mood changed and he shook off the feeling of self-pity. Instead, he felt the strength of empowerment begin to settle over him.

Mooch, sensing his emotional state, curled up close and pricked her oversized ears as the boy looked at his pet and spoke to her. "Papa said I'd know when it was time to go. Well, it's time, Moocher. Let's get out of here."

His decision made, Sapel bounced up off the bed and pulled his pack out of the small closet, beginning to stuff it with the things he wanted to take with him on his quest. Much of his survival gear was already stowed in the tiny cave and it didn't take him long to get his things together.

Opening the door to his cabin, he listened cautiously, but there was no sound inside the ship. His parents must still be outside acting like rutty animals. He felt a brief flash of disgust, then forgot it. It was that Vulcan thing making them do it. "Far" something or other. Dismissing it, he went to the galley and helped himself to some dried fruit and venison jerky and hard biscuits, then went back to his quarters to wait. He didn't dare leave the ship just yet. He'd have to wait until Mama and Papa got done outside and came back into their own room. They were sure to close the door tonight and that's when he'd sneak out. He had a hunch they'd be at it all night and wouldn't even be thinking about him.

Nervous now and tense with the enforced wait, Sapel picked up his game padd and settled back against his pillow, busily working through one of his favorite puzzles. He had fallen asleep long before Christine came back inside, checked on him, and then went to bed alone.

* * *

Christine rolled over onto her side and reached to the spot where Spock should have been. His side of the bed was empty and cold. He hadn't come to bed all night. Closing her eyes, she tried reaching out to him through their bondlink and met a wall of agitation instead of the usual warm glow that was her husband.

Getting up, she stepped across the hall and looked into Sapel's room, but it too was empty. His bunk was mussed, though, and it was hard to tell when he'd risen. Most likely he was out with his father or perhaps already on his way to his new favorite place, the little cave. Christine could feel nothing worrisome from her son's mental aura. Weak though it might be, there was still the faint trace of it that lingered like the sensation of feeling someone behind her that she couldn't see. It was Sapel's inherent Vulcan telepathic talent and she'd mostly learned to ignore it.

She stepped outside the hatch and shivered slightly at the chill that lingered on the dew‑wet grass. The embers of the baking pit still gave off a faint heat, but they were mostly dead. She'd gotten the remainder of the mountain sheep stored away in the cooler last night before she'd retired and now there was little evidence of the supper they'd all shared the night before.

She'd rolled up and stored the blankets on which she and Spock had made love, but now she retrieved one and wrapped it around her like a shawl.

Sapel was nowhere to be seen but, when Christine walked out away from the ship and looked back up the hill, she could see Spock, hunkered down on the apex, his face still turned to the sky.

"Spock!" she called. He did not answer or acknowledge her and she hailed him again. Still he ignored her. Sighing, Christine trudged up the hillside until she reached the flattened crown. "Didn't you hear me?" she asked him, slightly out of breath.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.

"Well, that's a nice greeting," she commented. "Good morning to you, too!"

"I do not wish to be disturbed," he growled, his brows low over his burning eyes. "Why did you come up here?"

Christine was taken aback for a second then understood. He was sinking rapidly into the _pon farr_ and having a hard time controlling the anger and aggression building within him as his blood began to burn with fever. "How much time do you have now, Spock?" she asked softly.

Spock shut his eyes and squeezed them tight as if in pain. "Days," he answered gruffly. "Maybe hours. My heart is flame! My blood burns like fire!!" He was beginning to pant with the effort of focusing on her and clutched his pounding head between both hands.

"Can I get you anything?" she persisted.

His control snapped. Jumping to his feet, he came at her and shouted, "Leave me alone!! Why do you pester me?!"

She moved hastily away, but did not retreat further. "Come to me when you are ready, Spock," she told him, then uttered a ritual phrase in Vulcan. " _I await thee at the appointed place, husband._ "

His eyes widened in response and his breathing deepened. For a moment, he stood trembling as he stared at her, the fever-born lust struggling to control him, then he forced himself to turn from her with a groan and sank back down to his knees, clenching his hands before his face. The _plak tow_ was settling upon him rapidly now and he would remain in the trance-like state until the irresistible burning in his veins drove him to his mate and the long hours of almost ceaseless coupling.

Christine left him there, knowing that she needed to prepare herself. She could already feel the tightening in her loins as her body began to respond to his, readying itself. She would need to bathe and eat and have the bedroom equipped with medicines for when it was over. The first time she hadn't known what to expect, hadn't anticipated the violence and trauma her body would experience. He had explained some time later that a male's sexual organs increased in size during the _pon farr_ , actually locking the mating pair together for a time, the head of the penis penetrating the cervix to deposit copious amounts of sperm directly into the uterus.

It was something that obviously distressed Spock greatly, but he could not override the evolutionary imperatives of his genetic makeup. It was a survival mechanism bred into his race to insure that the once-in-seven-years estrous period was not wasted. It was a fact of Vulcan sexuality. He would copulate with her until her body chemistry informed his that conception had occurred. Only then would his hormones allow the mating to end, its purpose achieved.

Or until he was so depleted and exhausted that his body simply shut down. If it came to that point, he could die. Christine didn't think it would reach that conclusion, though. Somehow she felt "ripe". Linked to his sexual cycle now, she could almost feel her ovaries swelling, ready to release an egg as soon as he mounted her in the fervor of his Burning. A conception would come of this mating, she was sure and, while she trembled with fear at the thought of risking another child to this world, something deep within her hungered for that ultimate fulfillment of her gender.

But first she must find her other child, locate and assure his safety. Then she would go and prepare for her husband's arrival and for the long days of violent, frenzied coitus that awaited her.

* * *

Sapel frowned deeply, watching his mother walk away, disappearing in the direction of the ship. She had sought him out and found him here in his supposed private place. He had informed her that his _kahs'wan_ had begun and she must not come checking on him. This was his test of manhood and he must do it all on his own.

Christine had smiled indulgently and agreed. Then she had left him, contented that he was in a known place with plenty of food and supplies to keep him out of trouble. "It's time for your Papa's test, too," she told him. "I've got to go get ready now. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Mama, quit worryin' about me," he answered, a little annoyance showing. "I'm okay! Go away now!"

And she had, glancing back over her shoulder to smile at him. When he could no longer hear her, Sapel sat cross-legged in the mouth of his cave and pulled Mooch into his lap, stroking her russet fur. "She's never gonna let me be, Mooch," he informed the kit. "If she knows where I am, she's gonna be down here checkin' on me six times a day. We gotta find someplace else to hole up so I can really be on my own." He thought a bit more about his dilemma. "But we can't move our stuff. If she comes and sees it all gone, she'll come looking' again. We'll make it look like we're still here, but we're gonna find someplace else."

His decision made, Sapel jumped to his feet, dumping Mooch out of his lap, and went back to get his spear and arrows. He was well-armed and quite comfortable with this world. He was a native, after all, born and raised here. Now, truly his own man for the first time, he felt a freedom settle over him that was like nothing he'd ever known. For the next week, he could do absolutely anything he wanted without mother or father keeping a leash on him, telling him when to eat or sleep, what to do or not.

Supremely confident, Sapel set off to explore, Mooch scampering along at his heels.

* * *

Vaguely Spock was aware of the passage of the sun overhead from east horizon to west. He dimly felt the cool of morning change into the heat of afternoon and then cool again as the sun sank behind the rolling hills. Darkness came but the only thing he could focus on was the fire in his veins, growing slowly but surely in intensity, rolling out of his gut to engulf his entire body.

Overhead, two of the small moons formed a pale yellow duo as they sped across the sky to the west, the third trailing behind, all three of them at first quarter phase. Behind them, in majestic parade, the constellations followed the same path, marching in procession. Among them moved an errant star, tracking against the flow, tiny and deliberate.

Spock never saw any of it. His eyes had rolled back as the _plak tow_ consumed him, a blaze that built into an inferno and grew into a firestorm. When the sun once more sent a spear of fire over the eastern escarpment, the golden ray struck him full in the face, the final trigger he needed to send his need bursting like a solar prominence from his raging core.

Slowly he came to his feet, breathing heavily, the rage of a thousand generations fueling the conflagration within him. He was burning to cinders, the terrible volcanic heat crisping him from inside out. There was only one hope of cooling his fever, only one way to quench the blaze that caused his organs to distend with liquid fire and ache with terrible need.

He had to find her. He had to bury that fire within her cool, soothing depths. Bury it deep, deep into the pools of her ocean and there give vent to the lava flowing within him. Again and again until he was empty and spent and slaked.

His gaze somehow turned from the horizon to the pathway before him, down the hillside to the length of the silver ship far below. There. She was there. And she hungered for him. He could feel her in his mind, calling to him. She was there at the appointed place. _And the time was now!_

His breathing harsh and irregular, his heart beating wildly with the fury of _plak tow_ , Spock started down the hill to where his mate lay ready to receive him.

* * *

Christine had spent a long restless night alone in the ship. Her mind kept trying to think about Sapel and if he was safe, but increasingly her thoughts were only for Spock. She could feel his growing arousal and the building heat in his blood, and it set her aflame as well. She had taken a shower, but ended up masturbating furiously as the sensual feel of the water and soap sliding over her skin proved too much to bear. She wanted him! Now!

Her sexual fervor temporarily sated, she dried herself and her hair, brushing it out free, then donned a loose robe over her naked body and padded to the galley to eat something. She wasn't hungry ... at least not for food ... but she made herself take sustenance. Once he came to her, she wouldn't eat again for several days.

While she forced herself to chew and swallow some of the roasted mutton wrapped in a piece of flatbread, she gathered medical supplies that might be needed and took them back to the bedroom. While she didn't think Spock would need anything other than perhaps vitamins following the _pon farr_ , she knew from experience that she would be confined to bed for a couple of days more. The Human body wasn't made to withstand the violence and intrusion of a Vulcan mating, but it could be done. She wished that she had a good powerful antibiotic to ward off any possible infection, but that was as unlikely as the _Enterprise_ swooping down and rescuing them.

There were a few medical supplies left in the ship's cabinet, but they were geared for Romulan physiology, not Human, and she was afraid to use any of the drugs on herself. Instead, she set out painkillers that were innocuous enough for both species, towels to put between her legs to stanch the bleeding, and ointments for any cuts and scrapes both of them might acquire.

By this time, her body was again building a tension that she could not ignore. The silky robe against her bare skin was stimulating her once more and the familiar feeling of tightness and wet between her legs was asserting itself yet again. Letting the robe fall open, she ran her hands up her torso and over her breasts, relishing the feel of her nipples expanding outward. Falling back onto the bed, Christine fondled and massaged both breasts, pulling and squeezing at her nipples until they were fully erect.

Her eyes shut, she reached out mentally to her mate. She wanted Spock! She wanted to feel his mouth closing over her sensitive nubs, his hot tongue laving and sucking them and making her writhe in ecstasy. She wanted to feel his tongue against her swollen womanhood, too, dragging up the full length of it, parting her labia to taste her within, settling on the throbbing mound hidden in its depths.

Panting, she reached down and slipped her fingers between her legs once more, her thoughts making them Spock's, stroking and probing her, becoming coated with her secretions, finally slipping up inside her as she bucked in ecstasy.

Through their mindbond, she could feel his answering fiery surge of excitement and that spurred her on. _Oh, now, Spock! Come to me!_ she pleaded to him.

 _Not yet. Soon. So hot ... need you!_ he answered deep within her brain. _I burn for thee! I dissolve in flame!_ But the rest of his thoughts were chaotic, visions of infernos and nuclear reactions within the core of stars.

She was forced to relieve herself and it did little good. The need returned with more and more frequency as his own built to a crescendo through the night. She slept naked atop the bed covers, now mussed with her thrashing, awaking often to console herself again and again, pleading with him to come to her, to take her with his fiery maleness, to fulfill them both. Then she would fall into a doze once more, her hand often lying in place between her legs, ready to rub herself to a climax as soon as she was conscious enough.

When dawn came, she was nearly mad with the wanting of him, her need for their physical joining driving her into a wanton, lust-filled animal. And then she knew — he was coming for her. Now!! Soon he would be atop her, spreading her eager legs, sheathing his rigid, swollen shaft to the hilt within her, pounding into her with all his might. They would join their minds as well, finally ... finally becoming one as their separate flames melded into one towering conflagration.

Sweat sheening her naked body, Christine could barely contain herself, her body throbbing in anticipation, wet and ready for him. _Why didn't he hurry?!_ her writhing torso demanded. She couldn't wait! She needed him in her now!!

Then she heard the hatch to the ship slide open and close and there was the sound of male footsteps coming through the common room.

He had arrived! She scarcely controlled herself from meeting him there, of pushing him down and stripping him and mounting his hard rod without preamble. But her last semblance of sanity kept her in check. She wanted it here, on the bed, where she had squirmed and dreamed of him the entire night.

The footsteps paused outside the door to the bedroom and Christine lay back against the pillows, spread and ready to receive him.

The door slid open — and Christine launched herself backwards against the headboard with a scream.

It wasn't Spock.

* * *

Sapel had spent a rather uncomfortable night crouched in the new shelter he had located. It was another crack in the thick limestone about a half mile from his other camp, but this one was tinier, more irregular and his determination to stay there had proved to be ill-conceived. Although he had gathered firewood and kindling, he hadn't been able to get a fire started. He didn't have a firestarter like his parents often used and he didn't know how to find flint and pyrite to strike a spark. He tried to get a spark going by friction, rubbing the point of a straight stick over and over into a flattened piece of wood, primed with plant fuzz, but his arms weren't strong enough to keep the action going. He gave out long before enough heat was generated to set the tinder ablaze.

So he huddled in on himself and hugged Mooch close to him for warmth, finally falling into a fitful sleep. Birdsong had awakened him at dawn, shivering in the early morning chill. Mooch jumped out of his arms as he stirred and scampered off to take care of her toilet duties. The boy watched her go and felt the need to do so as well. Walking over to a nearby tree, he pushed aside his loincloth and took hold of his penis, directing his flow against the trunk. The urine steamed in the chill air and for a moment he amused himself by playing the yellow stream up and down the wood.

Laughing, he shook himself clean and then, feeling extremely wicked and free, he left his penis exposed for a moment, thrusting it in mock sexuality in the direction of the tree he'd just wet down. Fleetingly, he wondered if his parents were rutting right this minute. He still couldn't fathom actually sticking his penis up inside another person, and besides there wasn't anyone here on this planet but himself, his Papa and ... his Mama. For the briefest of seconds, he envisioned the time he'd seen Papa on top of Mama, shoving his big, hard penis in and out of her, like when he watched the plains stallions rutting the mares. Mama acted like she was in pain, sort of, but she acted like she was really enjoying it, too.

The thought sent a forbidden thrill through him and for a moment he stiffened in response. His hand on his little erection felt very good indeed, but he was still much too young for any sort of completion and, besides, it was still too cool to leave his genitals uncovered. He resettled his loin cloth over himself and, in a final defiant, boyish gesture, he turned and shoved his rear end out toward the tree, farting loudly.

That sent him into more peals of laughter and he trotted back to his sleeping place. His parents would have been outraged by his behavior and given him a stern lecture on proper behavior, but at the moment he could do anything he liked. He was free!

Mooch joined him, snuffling around his pack. "You hungry?" Sapel asked her. "Me, too. I just got some jerky in here. I think there's some biscuits back at the other place. You wanna go get some?"

The kit stood on her hind legs and looked up at him, her black nose twitching and her big dark eyes liquid with interest. Sapel slipped on his water pouch, donned his quiver and picked up his bow. His knife stayed strapped to his waist at all times. That was a rule written in stone by his father. Never, ever go unarmed. You never knew when you'd need a weapon.

He planned on only the short hike down to his supply cache, then he'd come back and eat and continue his exploring. As a result, he left his pack and spear inside the little sanctuary where he'd spent the night.

Invigorated by the prospects of the day ahead, Sapel started back in the general direction of the ship, Mooch at his side.

* * *

"Well, well, well," said the man, slapping his phaser against his belt and advancing on the cringing woman. "What have we here?"

"Who are you?" Christine demanded, dragging the bed coverings over her. "What do you want?"

"Don't matter who I am, darlin'," he answered, sauntering toward her. He was large and dirty, shaggy-haired and bearded, and even from where he stood his stench assaulted her. "I kinda thought somebody might be in here, but I never knew it'd be a hot cunt ready to fuck."

She huddled farther away. "Get out!" she demanded.

"Not yet, honey," he replied, his yellow teeth showing through the scruffy beard. "The stink's so strong in here, it smells like a Risan whorehouse at closin' time. And from what I seen when I come in, it looks like you need a cock in the worst way."

He moved closer and began to lean toward her. "Open up and let's see what you got. I might need to eat that muff before I fuck it."

He reached for her and Christine scrambled off the bed and away from him, her abject terror screaming through her mindbond for Spock.

* * *

Spock stumbled and fell to his knees with the power of the mental blast that ripped through his brain. He was halfway down the hillside and now he vaulted to his feet and bounded the rest of the way to the base. There he skidded to a halt and held his fever-fueled anger in check, surveying the situation with amazement.

A humanoid man was prowling around the outside of the ship, examining the half-cured hide that Christine had staked and stretched on a frame, kicking at the firepit ashes, picking up and tossing away various tools. The hatch to the ship was open, but Spock could not see if there was anyone else inside. Christine's terror, however, told him that there was at least one more.

The man finally went and peered in. "Raf!" he called. "Whatcha doing in there? Find anything?" He started to step up into the ship and the move triggered Spock into action. The Vulcan's inherent protectiveness coupled with the fury of the _plak tow_ sent him darting forward, his knife already in his fist.

The man heard him at the last possible second and started to turn, grabbing for the phaser at his side, but Spock was already on him, left hand clamped over his mouth and right hand pulling the blade hard across his throat. The man gagged, fought frantically and tried to yell, all to no avail. Spock's iron grip held him immobile, heedless of the dark red blood spurting over his hands and spattering onto his face and hair as the man struggled in panic.

It was over in a minute and Spock unceremoniously dropped the body to the ground, his attention already turned to the ship. A fiery green haze filmed his vision, the coppery smell of blood sending his deeply-buried killing instincts surging to the fore. The civilized, modern-day Vulcan was gone. In his place was a savage pre-Reform warrior meeting invaders who threatened his home and his mate. He hesitated for a split second at the hatch and then only to take a lightning glance around the ship's common room. Then he leaped inside and made straight for the sounds of a fight coming from the main cabin.

* * *

Sapel skidded to a halt and stared in astonishment at the sight before him. A man! A man who wasn't his father! For a long moment, the mere fact that he was seeing another being besides his mother and father kept him motionless and silent. Then he began to notice more details.

The man had been bending over, peering into Sapel's little cave where he kept his cache of food but now he straightened and turned. Only now could the boy see that the man was neither Human nor Vulcan. He was humanoid in shape and features, but his skin was ridged and scaly, textured like pale leather with deeply sunk eyes and bony features on the skull. Black hair was slicked back and his neck looked too long, with elongated ridges that ran down to the shoulders, topped with scales.

As Sapel watched, a second man with the same features as the first squeezed out of the cave and stood up.

"Some food, tanned furs, other supplies," the second man reported. "It's puzzling, Dix. If the ship is there, why is someone obviously living in this crack?"

The first, taller man shrugged and his dark eyes swept their surroundings, their cold, black glitter chilling Sapel as he crouched motionless behind a covering of bushes.

"It won't matter one way or the other, once we find 'em," he said in a coarse voice. "If they can work, they'll bring a price. Raf and Wilts' checkin' the ship. Let's look around here."

The second man tossed away a handful of something he'd brought out of the cave and only then could Sapel see that it was several of his mother's biscuits that he'd swiped out of the galley on the night he left for his kahs'wan. They were hard and crusty now, but still very edible.

Beside him, Mooch suddenly perked her ears up and her nose twitched furiously at the scent of the food. Before he could stop her, she leaped out of his grasp and rushed to where the biscuits had fallen. Sapel made an instinctive move to follow her, but then crouched back down. The second man had spotted her and was walking toward her.

"Hey, looka this, Dix," he said, laughing. "Need a pet?"

"Leave it alone, Gural," the first man grumbled. "We don't need no more rats on board."

"No, I bet this 'un'd _catch_ rats," Gural answered. "Hey, little guy, you be a rat catcher, huh?" He bent down to pet Mooch as she gnawed away at one of the biscuits.

Without warning, Mooch's ears laid back against her head and, in a lightning move, she had sunk her sharp little teeth full into the man's outstretched hand, hanging on fiercely as he leaped back with a screech, trying frantically to dislodge the small animal. In a ludicrous dance, Gural hopped and spun, shaking his injured hand wildly as he attempted to get rid of the determined kit.

Finally, he slammed the little body against a tree trunk and the shock made her open her jaws. He slung her away, cursing fluently in several languages. "You fuckin' little _zi'ha'lat!_ " he howled, infuriated. The other man, Dix, was laughing uproariously at the scene. "Shut up, you cockfucker!" Gural ground out, holding his badly bitten hand against him. "It's not funny!"

"Catch rats, will it?" Dix guffawed. "Oh, man!"

Gural growled at him, then snatched his phaser off his belt with his left hand. "Fuck off, you sister-rutter!"

He leveled the weapon at the dazed little animal lying in the grass a few feet away and pulled the trigger. The blue beam hit Mooch full in the side and she disappeared in a flash of scorching light, leaving a smoking black spot where she had been.

"Noooooo!!!!" came a high-pitched scream and almost simultaneously an arrow buried itself to the thatching in Gural's left shoulder. The shaft slammed all the way through, the point sticking out of his back.

The wounded man shrieked and went down, dropping his phaser and clutching at the arrow, writhing in pain.

Dix had his phaser in his hand in the same instant, his eyes locking on the small, dark‑haired boy who had popped out of the undergrowth and was already fitting another arrow into his bow. He was shaggy haired and clad in skins, his face flushed with rage and grief, his teeth gritted together.

Dix fired wildly but the boy was already gone, disappearing into the forest. Leaving his injured comrade to fend for himself, the pirate spurted after the feral boy, bent on revenge. Plunging into the woods, he homed in on the sound of a body crashing through the bushes somewhere ahead and set out on a course to head him off.

* * *

Christine lashed out with everything she could, kicking, hitting, scratching, attempting to bite or head-butt her assailant, but he was too big, too strong. Despite the punishment he was taking, he managed to drag her back up onto the bed and get her pinned beneath him.

"You a real wildcat, ain't ya?" he grinned, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip. "Oh, yeah, I'm gonna enjoy fuckin' you! And I'm gonna fuck you every way I can think of ... even if I haveta beat you unconscious and tie you hand and foot." He laughed harshly . "And that might not be a bad idea anyway!"

He managed to get both her wrists stretched over her head, held in one massive hand, then reached the other one down between them to open his pants. She was glaring at him furiously, panting deeply from her exertions and anger, and she could feel his solid erection pressed against her. Growling, she narrowed her eyes and pinned him with a killing gaze. If he got close enough, she'd go for his throat with her teeth. Maybe she could get to the jugular and do some real damage.

"Don't even try it," he ground out, as if reading her mind. He slapped her hard across the face with his free hand. "I'll knock yer fuckin' teeth out if you bite me! Now, get ready for a real fuck, you cocksuckin' bitch!"

Raf kicked her legs farther apart and made to settle between them.

Abruptly, he was yanked bodily off her and flung across the room, where he crashed into the wall and fell, dazed, to the deck. Before he could register what had happened, a green-faced wild man was standing over him, eyes blazing in a ferocious countenance — a Vulcan with disheveled black hair, his clothes and face dripping with red blood and gore.

" _She is MY mate!!!_ " the Vulcan roared through clenched teeth, his breath rasping in and out stertorously. " _Leave here! NOW!!_ "

Raf's wits came back in a rush and he slammed a boot into the Vulcan's shin, knocking him back. In a split second, the big man was on his feet, phaser in his fist, aiming at Spock. But the blood fever had driven the Vulcan to murderous insanity and he launched himself up with the speed of a jungle cat, striking the pirate with all his might.

The phaser shot went wide and Spock wrenched the phaser out of his hand, slapping it away. With his inhuman strength, he bore Raf to the deck, his steel knife in a white-knuckled grip, going for the throat. But Raf was nearly as strong and caught Spock's wrist, using his own enormous strength to hold him at bay, his other hand gouging at the Vulcan's eyes.

They rolled, grappling in a ferocious contest of wills and power. At last, Raf wound up on top and managed to slam Spock's fist against the bulkhead, again and again until his grip loosened and the knife fell away. With a triumphant cry, the pirate made a lightning move, locking both hands in a death-grip around the Vulcan's throat, squeezing with all his might.

But Spock was oblivious to the pain and constriction. He was fully within the _plak tow_ and could only see a rival male bent on taking his female. Every savage gene in his long ancestry roared up to send his blazing soul into a full-fledged firestorm, a volcanic eruption of white-hot magma blasting forth from the bowels of the earth.

With a strangled bellow that was more animal than sentient being, Spock seized Raf's throat between his own blood-smeared hands and tightened them in a vise-like grip, slowly and inexorably crushing windpipe, esophagus and spinal cord.

Suddenly aware of his peril, Raf let go of Spock's throat and pried futilely at the steely fingers gripping his own. It was to no avail. Spock flipped him over onto his back and straddled the now frantically bucking man. In a final gesture of victory, he abruptly snapped the pirate's neck, ending the fight as quickly as it had begun.

But Spock was barely aware of it. Getting to his feet, his hands still around the dead man's throat, he dragged the body out through the common room to the main hatch. There, with a beast‑like howl, he flung it away to land near the body of the other slain man, lying where Spock had left him.

The fever-maddened Vulcan promptly forget them, slapping the close button as he turned away. All that mattered now was his woman, waiting for him to claim her. His nostrils flared at the scent of her sexual odor and he began stripping off his blood-soaked clothes and dropping them as he went, his arousal throbbing up hard and huge in anticipation.

By the time he reached the bedroom, he was naked and enormously erect, his penis pulsing with hunger and need. He paused for a second in the doorway to drink in her scent and take in the delicious scene before him.

Christine was still on the bed, but the combat and her link to her husband had aroused her own sexual excitement back to the peak it had been before. She lay back and spread her legs invitingly, her genitals swollen and dripping with vaginal juices.

He didn't hesitate further. Marching toward her, he climbed onto the bed and quickly positioned himself above her. His erection was nearly thumping against his abdomen and he lost no time in mounting her, jamming his heated organ into the sheath of her sex.

He erupted as soon as he was within her, both of them crying out with the intensity of his ejaculation. He held rigid for a second, then began pumping into her fiercely and at the same time, his hands came up to dig into her face, finding and locking onto her meld points.

With frantic hunger, she opened her mind to him and let him in, for already the head of his growing erection was pounding against the opening of her cervix and soon would thrust its way through, tying them together until the _pon farr_ had run its course. She would not have been able to withstand the pain of it and he quickly took control of her mind, covering her consciousness with the overlying blanket of his own, shielding her from the savagery and violence of the Mating.

In their dream-world, he thrust into her as she rode his hips, a joyous honey-sweet coupling that filled her with the light of his being when he shot into her ethereal body. Their mental selves tumbled and joined, kissing, melding together, becoming one, as he filled her with plasma again and again and again.

* * *

At first Sapel simply ran, crashing through the underbrush, blinded with grief and anger and fear. He had meant to shoot the other man, too, but had been too slow. The strange man had fired his light weapon toward him, just as the other had done at Mooch, and Sapel bolted in terror. He knew that the man was following him now and his only thought was to stay ahead of him, to get away.

Gradually, however, an idea began to form in the boy's mind, one born of vengeance and survival. He didn't know who or what these men were, but he knew instinctively that they were bad. They were here with evil intent and Sapel decided that he had to save his parents as well as himself.

Deliberately, he slowed a bit and made a lot of noise as he shoved his way through the brush. In response, he heard his pursuer pause and then turn in his direction, following the sound. Sapel grinned in satisfaction and continued to alert the man to his continued flight. The man continued to follow him.

After a half hour, though, there was silence behind him and then the sounds seemed to be going the other way. Sapel loped back until he could spot the odd, scaly man working his way back toward the ship.

Sapel snatched up a convenient stone, popped out of the brush and hurled it at the retreating back with all his might. The stone thunked solidly between the man's broad shoulders and he whirled in fury as Sapel howled at him in mockery and then disappeared again.

"You little fucker!" the man ground out. "You wanna play games, huh? Okay — I'll play!"

He turned and charged toward the spot he'd last seen the boy, but there was no one there when he arrived. Beating the underbrush, he didn't see Sapel rise up a literal stone's throw ahead of him and loose another fist-sized chunk of rock. This one glanced off the man's bony head plates and caused him to roar with pain and rage.

"You fuckin' little bastard!" He shot off in Sapel's direction, but the boy was already running, well ahead of him.

Sapel hit a known game trail and increased his speed until he was about a hundred yards in advance, then he hid behind a tree and peered around it. Well behind him, the man burst out of the bushes and onto the trail. There he paused and looked around, trying to spot his prey.

Sapel jumped out onto the trail and screeched at the top of his voice, dancing around in plain view. It was nearly his undoing, for the man whipped out the fire thing in his hand and lightning exploded out of it. A big chunk of wood blasted out of the tree trunk next to Sapel, causing the boy to dive back undercover in genuine surprise and astonishment. He'd have to be careful, he realized. The man could kill him from a distance with his strange weapon.

But the knowledge only served to strengthen Sapel's resolve. He stuck his head up once again and sent the man a resounding raspberry with his tongue. Then laughing hysterically, he once more raced out of sight. With a curse, the man followed at a run.

The forest was beginning to thin out somewhat and the terrain becoming more arid and rocky, dropping down toward the vast expanse of the savannah. Sapel knew where he was and now his senses increased to greater acuity. Pausing for a scarce minute, he listened and heard what he expected to hear.

Without further ado, he picked out a _pinono_ tree that towered over the game trail and shinnied up it with the agility of a monkey. He was high in the branches when Dix, the man chasing him, trotted down the trail, his black eyes searching diligently for his pint-sized tormenter.

Winded, the man stopped and panted. Finally, he said aloud to himself, "Fuck it. Let the little asslicker rot." He started to turn back the way he'd come.

Sapel let a fist-sized green _pinono_ fruit drop directly onto the man's head, nearly knocking him senseless as it impacted with the force of a large rock.

Dix cried out and clutched at his head, then looked up, his eyes searching the foliage. "Still playing games, huh?" he said. "Well, I got you trapped now, you little _hen'tig_!"

He pointed his phaser up into the tree and took careful aim. But Sapel was already in action. Seizing another of the hard _pinono_ fruits, he drew back and threw it with all his might, not at Dix but over the rim of the little ridge that dipped down just in front of them.

There was an abrupt yip of pain and then that was swallowed up with an outraged chorus of full-throated roars. Dix whipped around in surprise and cried out just as a full-grown marsupial lioness charged over the hill, her ears back flat and her eyes blazing. Behind her a second lioness appeared and then a third.

The man tried to run, but got no more than ten paces before the first predator had tackled him, sinking both dagger-like teeth and long, lethal claws into him, taking him down with her 300 lb. weight. He screamed in pure terror, then the other two lions were on him and the scream was cut short as he was torn apart in their savage fury.

Sapel turned away from the scene, unable to watch the carnage. He had no choice but to listen, however, as the three ferocious beasts fought over the carcass.

The boy closed his eyes and finally tears began to well up and pour down his pale cheeks. He was shaking almost uncontrollably with shock and grief, but clung doggedly to his perch high above the scene of the kill. Long into the night he listened to the lions squabble and feed, knowing he would have to stay up here until they were well gone.

Hugging the thick branch on which he was propped, Sapel wept ... for Mooch, for his own part in the scaly man's death below, for himself and the trauma he had undergone this day which had started as a lark and adventure. He desperately wanted his mother and father, but knew they would not come. He could feel through his inherent link that both were alive and well, but he was shut out of their thoughts, for they were sunk deeply into the Mating now and would not be released from it for several more days.

Shivering with cold, Sapel watched and waited for the lions to leave the area so that he could return home to safety. Grimly, he realized that this truly was his _kahs'wan_ ... his test of manhood and survival.

* * *

With a groan, Gural dragged himself upright, although his head swam from the pain in his shoulder and black spots whirled before his eyes. He rested, allowing the dizziness to fade somewhat. He wasn't sure what day it was.

Had one day passed or two? He'd been in and out of consciousness so much that he'd lost track. The crude arrow was still lodged firmly through his upper torso and it felt as if it had penetrated bone when it had slammed through him. Worse, it had shattered the breastplate communicator in his suit and, without it, he couldn't be located by the ship. Of his three companions, there was no sign. Had they left him here? That didn't seem likely. He functioned as the navigator of their small group and thus was valuable.

He remembered Dix going chasing after the wild little boy who'd shot him, then the fiery pain had taken him down into blackness. It was twilight when he'd next come to, his upper torso swollen and throbbing intensely. Blood had soaked through his shipsuit and left him nauseated by its smell and the agony of movement.

"Dix!" he managed to call, but there was no answer, only a distant grumbling and snarling sound. He'd pulled himself along until he neared the ship they'd come to explore, then he'd recoiled in terror.

Raf and Wilts were both lying dead on the ground outside the grounded ship. Raf's head lolled at an unnatural angle and Wilts had been nearly decapitated by a deep cut across his throat. Worse, some scavenger things were fighting over the bodies, ripping at the cadavers and at each other. The blood-soaked clothing he wore suddenly made him freeze in horror. Thank the Fathers he was downwind or the pack would already be on him.

Carefully, he made his way back to the little cave in the limestone cliff and managed to squeeze himself inside. He'd found his phaser and stuck it back onto his belt, then wedged himself into the relative safety of the cave. There was a homemade spear propped against the back wall and he appropriated this as well.

With the coming of night, more scavengers arrived on the scene and the harrowing sounds of carnage echoed through the blackness. It wasn't long before his own scent was discovered and his cave was besieged by hungry predators trying to get at him. He burned them down until the power pack in his weapon sputtered and died. Then he used the spear to keep them at bay until dawn sent them back into hiding.

He'd passed out or slept then out of sheer exhaustion and weakness. It seemed to be mid‑day when next he woke. Cautiously, he drew himself out of the cave and listened. All was quiet, save for faint birdsong and the gentle rush of wind in the tree tops.

Dix had still not returned to find him and Gural had a sinking feeling that he too was dead. Using the spear as a prop, the Cardassian managed to pull himself back to the vicinity of the ship. There was no sign of his two shipmates. Only bits of cloth and metal were scattered around the scene of massacre. One bit of metal caught his eye and he hastily dragged himself toward it. He bent, managing to pick it up with his good hand, and brought it up to eye level.

It was a breast comm, dented with tooth marks, but still seemingly functional. Swallowing to wet his dry throat, Gural pressed the activator and was rewarded with a chirp of opened circuits. "Ulli..." he croaked.

"Ulli here," replied a female voice. "Gural, is that you? Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to contact you for hours! Where's Dix?"

"I think he's dead," the pirate answered hoarsely. "Raf and Wilts, too. Can you lock onto me? I'm hurt. Need med..."

He hadn't finished his sentence before he felt the tingling sensation of a transporter beam engulf him. In seconds, he was standing on the small transporter pad of his ship.

A female Cardassian came from behind the console, her dark eyes wide with horror at his blood-stained clothing and the arrow protruding from his shoulder. "Great Gods! What happened?!"

"We were attacked ... savages down there," Gural murmured and felt the world wheeling about him once again. Ulli caught him underneath his good arm and supported him as she helped him get to his cabin.

"I can't treat this wound," she said, worried. "It's already going septic. I've got to get you to a base site or trade ship that has a proper infirmary."

"Then do it!" Gural snapped, wincing as he settled onto his uninjured side, trying not to jiggle the shaft of the arrow.

"What about Dix?" the woman asked.

"Fuck Dix!" the pirate growled. "He's dead anyway ... or will be. It's too wild down there. There's people but they're maniacs! Completely savage. Let's just get out while we still can."

Ulli fitted a pillow to his back, making him more comfortable. Then she knelt and caressed the bony ridges of his pale face. "You know I never wanted us to fall in with Dix and his cutthroats anyway, my love. Look where it's led us. We can make a clean break from here. Start a new life."

Gural closed his eyes for a moment under her soothing touch. Then he looked back at her and said, "We can make plans later, wife. For now, get us underway! I don't know how long I can stand this thing in me!"

She pressed her face plates to his and then whirled and ran to the cockpit, where she sent the little cargo ship out of orbit and streaking away back toward home space.

* * *

 _Awaken to me, my beloved_ , Spock's voice whispered in the depths of her mind. _You know that I burn even yet for thee._

In their mental universe, he stroked her lithe body as it twisted in the air, weightless, trailing his fingers down over her breasts, across her stomach and to her thighs.

 _I want your mouth on me, s'hy'la_ , she whispered back, arched in ecstasy. _Lick me! Suck me! Oh, Spock — I'm on fire!_ He complied readily, parting her long legs and moving between them to the hidden treasures there. They were wet and glistening with the honeyed flow of arousal and he hungered to savor their sweetness. His hands gently clutching her hips, he bent to taste her succulent folds, teasing his tongue up the velvet valley until he encountered the hot nub of her pleasure. There, he sucked it into his mouth and played the tip of his tongue over and around it, causing her to groan ecstatically.

After a few minutes, though, she sent him a reciprocal thought and he obligingly changed his position, moving his body up to float over hers, his dark head still lowered between her thighs, eagerly lapping her nectar. Above her, his own legs spread slightly apart and she reached to stroke the long, hard shaft of his erection and its attendant full, greenish pouch.

 _I cherish thee, husband_ , she thought to him in Vulcan. _I find thee beautiful in thy manhood. I love to touch thee so_. Her nails raked lightly over the thick flesh and she watched his scrotum draw in slightly in response. Laughing, she pulled his body down to her and fitted her lips to the egg-shaped globes within the wrinkled sac, sucking gently, prodding her tongue against them and wriggling them about.

He moaned and writhed, sending them tumbling slowly. _Thee fills my veins with fire, wife!_ he sighed _. I need to be inside thee once more!_ Her laughter rang back to him. _Not yet! Thee must ready my body to take thy fire! I am only half roused!_

He needed no further urging, but bent back to the sweet job he had begun, kissing and laving her with his tongue, delving into her secret places with its tip, tickling those most sensitive of areas until she felt her own blood-fire scream in readiness.

But she was not idle during this. Grasping the provocatively throbbing column of his sex, she brought it to her lips, kissing the burning head and snaking her tongue out to lick away the too‑eager droplets collecting there, working the tip into the slit to search for more. His entire penis jumped in her grasp as she did so and she was rewarded by a flood of creamy pre-ejaculate.

Sucking it down eagerly, she took as much of him into her mouth as she could fit, gently pumping the base of his erection in her fist. He groaned loudly and she could feel his hot breath panting against her clitoris. _Wife, you undo me! The lava boils within my loins and must erupt NOW!_

He pulled away from her and reversed his position relative to her, an easy aerial maneuver in their weightless state. Now facing her, he seized her buttocks and positioned himself between her widely spread thighs. His penis pulsated visibly, as he brought his hips up to lodge his erection into the slot of her vagina, thrilling at the sight of his intensively virile manhood penetrating the core of her femininity. Gripping her harder, he slammed in to the hilt, making her arch back with a rapturous sigh, and began pounding into her with all his might.

She reached up to clasp her full, buoyant breasts, rubbing and squeezing them until the rosy nipples stood high and swollen. Training his sight on them, he thrust with increasing fervor as he felt his gut gather for the latest in a seemingly endless series of orgasmic releases. With his mate moaning and writhing, Spock reached the threshold of ecstasy and felt his head spin in vertigo, even as he blasted his hot semen into the hot, clutching depths of Christine's hungry body.

And then suddenly his perspective whirled and changed ... and he abruptly found himself lying atop the trembling, sweaty body of his wife, tangled in the sheets of their cabin bed, his fingertips still pressed hard into the meld points of her face, still buried within her, quivering his last reflexive spurts into her womb.

But something about her had changed. It was a subtle message only his hormones could detect, read through the inflamed skin of his penis embedded within her. It was a chemical change that told his brain no more mating was required. Its purpose was served. Sperm had found ovum and conception was accomplished. Christine once more carried new life within her.

 _Pon farr_ was done. The blood fever had cooled. And as a result Spock felt his erection fade for the first time in the long hours of coitus. As the blood flowed back to other parts of his body, he felt incredibly weakened, near collapse, but he first assured that Christine was still within the recesses of the deep mind meld, oblivious to the injuries her body had sustained. He brought her up to a level of sleep and left her there, departing from her mind.

As his penis shrank to normal size and pulled away from her cervix, he shakily withdrew from her body, noting that he was raw and abraded from the hours of intercourse. His genitals were covered with semen and mucous, his blood and hers, but he was too tired to clean himself just yet. At home, there would be an attendant to take care of that, a relative or trusted friend, but here they were on their own.

Christine would need to be attended as well. She was leaking blood from her vagina and would be unable to walk for a few days as she recovered. A Vulcan woman would be stronger, but a Human was simply not made to withstand the rigors of _pon farr_.

Spock settled beside her, beginning to sink into the slumber of utter fatigue. Aching all over, he managed to draw a blanket over their bodies, then surrendered to sleep, his hand spread protectively over her abdomen, covering the microscopic zygote within her, as yet merely a infinitesimal ball of cells busily dividing again and again and again.

* * *

Spock awoke slowly, his mind still fogged from the aftermaths of _pon farr_. Beside him, Christine still slept deeply and he took a moment to nuzzle his face against hers, moved beyond words with his love for this woman. She stirred, but did not wake, and he finally forced himself to get up.

His body ached as if he'd been severely beaten and he stank from days of sweaty coupling and the dried fluids that stuck to his genitals and thighs. Stumbling to the bathroom, he closed the door and turned on the shower, allowing the water to run for a moment so that the spray would not be cold. While it ran, he took an inventory of himself ... and was alarmed at what he found.

His body was bruised and scraped in such a way that he appeared to have been in a fight. But how could that be possible? Christine might have reacted to the Mating with an aggressive, sexually charged response, but he didn't think so. There were bruises around his neck as if someone had attempted to strangle him.

He simply did not remember anything between meditating on the hill top and awaking from the _plak tow_. Still puzzling over this, Spock stepped into the shower and could not repress a little moan as the hot water hit him. It felt unbelievably wonderful, but he refused to allow himself to simply stand underneath the nozzle. Reaching for the soap, he lathered himself and scrubbed his body clean, paying particular attention to his still painful sexual organs. Then he bent his head underneath the spray and soaped it as well, working the suds thoroughly through his shoulder‑length black hair.

Abruptly he pulled his hands away and stared at them. The shampoo lather was pink. With a sinking feeling, Spock pulled a strand of hair through his fingers and watched as accumulated clots of red dissolved.

It was blood. Human blood.

 _My Fathers_ , he wondered to himself. _What did I do to her?_

Quickly, he rinsed his hair and finished his bath, shutting the water off and stepping out in one fluid motion. Hurriedly drying himself off, he roughly toweled his hair and then used his fingers to pull the tangles out of it. Then, still naked, he returned to the bedroom where his wife slept peacefully amid the rumpled, soiled sheets.

Spock sat on the side of the bed and gently shook her. "Christine, wake up." She moaned and tried to turn away. " _T'hy'la_ , please, I need for you to wake up!"

One bleary blue eye opened to peer at him, then shut again. "Lemme sleep," she muttered. "Tired."

He persisted. "Christine, this is important. I believe that I injured you. I need to examine you for wounds."

Another groan, but she stretched, her eyes still shut, and the action dragged the sheet away from her bare breasts, the rosy nipples peaking up invitingly. Any other time, he would have taken the invitation, but not now. He was drained of all sexual interest following the intensive mating, plus he knew that she had not yet realized how she sore she must be.

Flipping the sheet away, he exposed her body and saw for the first time the bruises covering her thighs and lower torso. There were finger marks on her breasts, too, which must have been his, although he didn't remember grasping her so hard. The sheets beneath her were soaked with blood and her pubic hair was crusted with blood and semen.

But he could see no injuries that might account for his own state. "I need to turn you," he said and maneuvered her onto one side so that he could see her back. Again, there were bruises and her buttocks had a film of bloody mucous from the discharge from her vagina, but again no obvious injuries.

"God, I hurt," she said as the full feeling began to return to her. "Is it over, Spock?"

He allowed her to lie back flat and reached to caress her face. "Yes, _t'hy'la_ , it is over now."

"Am I...?"

He nodded. "You carry our child within you," he said softly. "The _plak tow_ ended as your body chemistry changed."

Her eyes closed and tears leaked out between her lashes, although he couldn't tell if they were from sorrow or joy or simply relief. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, and he gathered her for a long moment in his embrace. Then he pulled away and said, "I must tend to you. You need bathing and attention. You are bleeding from the violence of the intercourse."

"I need to pee, too," she said. "Help me to the bathroom. I think I'll be okay for a few minutes and you can change the bed while I'm in there."

He did so, supporting her as he guided her to the toilet, then left her to strip the bloody sheets off the bed and stuff them into the ship's small recycler. He checked on Christine, then came back and drew the cleaned linens from the unit, quickly putting the sheets back on the bed. It took no more than about five minutes and he immediately returned to the bathroom.

He started the shower again then helped her into it. She braced herself so that she could stand and he quickly washed her, cleansing her gently but thoroughly. He didn't wash her hair. It would take longer than her limited strength would endure, then he dried her off and helped her back to bed.

The Romulan woman who had been the mistress of this ship had left a full supply of hygiene and feminine-type products. Although Romulans, like Vulcans, did not experience a monthly cycle the way Humans did, she had been a fastidious woman and there were things that resembled absorbent pads. Christine worked one of these between her legs as Spock retrieved a gown for her and helped her slip it over her head.

Then she lay back gratefully and sighed. "I feel better now," she said, then concern covered her face. "Is Sapel all right?"

"He is not here," Spock answered, pulling on fresh clothing from his limited supply.

"Oh, Spock!" Christine exclaimed, starting up. "Haven't you checked on him? Oh, my poor baby!"

"He is alive and well," Spock assured her. "I feel his presence through our bond. In some emotional distress, but I believe he came through his _kahs'wan_ quite well."

"Oh, go and find him, Spock! I can't stand the thought of him being out there any longer!"

"That is exactly my intent," he answered, pulling on his leggings and securing them. "But it was necessary to attend you first."

"Hurry!" she implored him.

Spock was torn between several pressing needs. First and foremost was to locate and bring Sapel home, then feed all three of them. Neither he nor Christine had eaten in several days and his body was demanding food now that the ordeal of _pon farr_ was over. He was sure she felt nearly starved to death.

But also important was discovering what had occurred during the time he was lost in the _plak tow_ , where the blood had come from and why he was so bruised. The bedroom was disarrayed, but that could have been due to the insanity that possessed him. A male in _pon farr_ was often violent and highly emotional. Furniture often suffered from the excesses of his mental state.

Moving out into the common room, Spock saw a trail of clothing stretching across the common room, where he had stripped as he made his way to his wife's bed. That caused an eyebrow to twitch up and he bent to retrieve the dropped leather garments, then froze in horror.

His shirt was stiff with dried blood, practically soaked in it. His knife sheath was lying in the middle of the room, but the knife was missing. He looked around, but did not find it, and that caused his mind to whirl as he turned over all possibilities.

He must have battled an animal, he decided. In his furious mental state, he could quite easily have gone one-on-one with a predator.

Bringing the clothing back into the bedroom, his frankly puzzled expression caused Christine to sense something amiss.

"Spock? What is it?"

"Something happened while I was in _plak tow_ ," he answered. "I don't remember what. But my clothes are covered with blood and so was I when I took my shower. It's not your blood, though."

She shook her head. Her mind, too, had been so filled with the fire of mating that she could only remember that something had been wrong. Something frightful here in this room. Something was here... no, _someone_... Abruptly, like a blow, her memory returned and she cried out as tears of fear and shock erupted. "Oh, God, Spock! There was a man here! He tried to rape me and you came and fought and killed him!!" She began to hyperventilate in her terror and Spock instantly dropped the clothing he held and rushed to pull her into his arms.

She cried hysterically for several minutes, clutching at him while he sent soothing thoughts through their bond. But, truth be told, he was immensely shaken himself. Snatches of memory filtered back to him as well, mere threads and flashes that he had thought must have been fever delirium. Now he recognized them as true memory and he felt panic stealing over him as well.

Ruthlessly, though, he crushed the fear. "It is all right now, _t'hy'la_ ," he told her firmly and his strength anchored her, bringing her back down. "I must go and find Sapel. I will voice lock the ship's hatch so that nothing can harm you while I am gone." He drew back and wiped her tears away with his fingertips, holding her gaze with his calm, steady eyes. "Do not attempt to get out of bed. You are quite weak and may injure yourself if you do. Am I understood?"

She nodded, still sniffing. "Just find him, Spock," she answered imploringly. "I want us all together again!"

"I will return shortly," he promised.

As he rose from the bed, something caught his eyes. A silvery object was lying nearly out of sight near the dresser unit and he picked it up, both his brows shooting up in surprise.

It was a phaser, an older model Starfleet issue hand weapon. Checking the setting, he noted that it was fully charged. He brought it back to his wife. "Keep this with you. It will make you feel safer."

Christine turned the weapon over in her hands. As a Starfleet officer, she'd been fully trained in phaser use, but hadn't shot one since her commissioning. Medical personnel seldom needed to. But now she was grateful to have it. "What about you?" she asked. "Would it be better if you had it?"

"Perhaps, but I wish you to feel protected while I am gone." He held her gaze again for a moment, then kissed her softly. "I will return as soon as I can."

With that, he was gone and after a moment, Christine heard the hatch open and close again. And even from the bedroom, she could hear the magnetic lock seal.

* * *

Once outside the ship, Spock found himself frozen in place, surveying their living area in horror. It was obvious that some terrible form of carnage had occurred here, for the ground was soaked with blood and buzzing with tiny flying insects sucking the precious fluid from the soil. Bits of shredded clothing were littered about, but there was no sign of any bodies. Scavengers had thoroughly scoured every scrap of bone and flesh.

Chilled by the sight, Spock took a cautious step forward, his senses alert for any signs of danger, but the only sounds were the light breeze in the treetops and birdsong. Going farther, his eyes searched the area. A few bright bits of metal glinted in the sunlight and he identified a belt clasp, the snap off a pocket flap, and the mangled circuits of a breast communicator. Then he saw something that made his heart leap and he rushed to retrieve it.

There was another phaser lying half buried beneath a bush. Like the one he'd found on the ship, it was an old issue Starfleet model and, again, it was fully charged. It was also splattered with dried blood and Spock wondered if it were he who had been the spiller of that blood or some animal. He had a sinking feeling that he knew the answer.

Nevertheless, he stuck it against his belt, a growing sense of unease quickening his pace as he hurried in the direction of Sapel's little cave. He could still sense his son through their mental link, but he didn't know where he was. The boy was in some distress, but it didn't seem life threatening.

As Spock neared the area of the cave, he slowed and then paused to survey the area. Again there were signs of a struggle and there was blood on the ground, but it was unclear to whom or what it belonged. The blood was reddish, but that meant nothing.

Sapel had red blood but so did the fauna of this planet. And, if the area around the ship was any indication, it was highly likely that the invaders had been Human or humanoid. Iron‑based blood was quite common in this area of the galaxy and the Vulcanoid species with copper-based systems were in the minority.

There was no sign of the boy or his pet anywhere near the cave where he should have been. Spock visually searched the entire area, then called loudly, "Sapel!!" There was no answer and he tried again, shaping his hands around his mouth to act as a megaphone. "Sa-PEL!!!"

Again only silence greeted him and Spock began to feel a note of panic building within him. He forced it down and tried something different. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he concentrated on the mental link with his son and sent, _SAPEL!!_

 _Papa!!_ came back the startled reply.

Relief washed over Spock like a cold wave. He concentrated once more to broadcast clearly. Vulcans were touch telepaths and it was difficult to do a free sending like this. _Where?_ he managed.

A picture came back to his mind, one he recognized as the territory of the marsupial lions. Worried once again, Spock send an order that Sapel stay where he was and then he set off in that direction in a long lope that ate the distance between the two locations.

Near to his destination, Spock slowed to a walk and again his senses tuned themselves to any danger. Almost without thinking, his hand went to the phaser at his hip and he brought it up, ready to fire. It felt both very natural and a bit strange to be holding a modern weapon once more, but at the moment finding Sapel was foremost on his mind.

Creeping along the game trail, Spock moved silently, as quiet as the animals he was hoping to avoid. As he came into a clearing, Sapel's voice suddenly called, "Papa!"

Spock looked up and spotted his son high in the branches of a _pinono_ tree. Before he could speak, though, Sapel cried, "Lions!!"

Spock saw them at almost the same instant, two big lionesses and a half-grown one coming over the hill toward him, heads down and ears flattened. He didn't hesitate, but jerked the phaser up and fired. The beam exploded the dirt directly in front of the predators and the three gave almost simultaneous squalls of surprise and disappeared back the way they had come.

Spock waited a moment to be sure they were gone, then approached the tree. "It's all right, Sapel. You can come down now."

Shakily, the boy descended until he was just above his father's head, then let go and dropped into Spock's strong arms.

"Papa!!" he exclaimed and his face crumpled as he threw his arms around his father's neck. "Papa ... Papa..." was all he could say for a few minutes amid his deep sobs.

Spock held him close. "Are you all right? Have you been hurt?"

"I'm ... okay," the boy sniffed, then broke out in a fresh bout of weeping. "But Mooch!! Oh, Papa, they killed her!!"

"Who killed her?" Spock pressed gently.

"Men! Bad men!"

"How many?"

"Two."

"Where are they?" the Vulcan insisted, needing to know if the invaders were still here. "What happened to them?"

Sapel drew back from his father's shoulder and wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. "I shot one of them ... with an arrow ... and then the other one ... he chased me down here ... and I climbed the tree ... and the lions got him."

"Did they kill him? Are you sure?"

Sapel nodded. "Three days ago. I been up the tree ever since. I couldn't get down because the lions were still here."

Spock hugged his young son close. "I didn't see anyone else around. I'll get you back to Mama and then I'll search to see if there are any others still here."

Sapel didn't want to get down and Spock was disinclined to force him to. With the boy's legs wrapped around his waist and his arms around his neck, Spock carried Sapel back up the trail to the vicinity of the ship, all the while keeping his eyes and ears open for danger.

"Papa? I'm hungry," Sapel murmured, his head on his father's shoulder, fast-approaching sleep evident in his voice.

"Did you eat anything during your _kahs'wan_?" Spock answered softly.

"Some jerky the other day, then all there was was some _pinono_ fruit," the boy replied. "Most of it was green but there were a few left over from last year. They were pretty bad."

"I can imagine," his father said. "I will feed all of us when we get home."

Sapel didn't say any more, but his grip slackened and his head lay heavily against Spock's neck. His exhaustion had caught up with him and he slept.

At the edge of the clearing, Spock paused and thoroughly looked and listened for any sign of danger, but there were none. He crossed to the hatch and spoke the voice command, only feeling safe once he had his son inside and the door closed and locked behind him.

"Spock?" Christine's voice drifted anxiously from the main cabin.

"Yes," he called and Sapel stirred, wakened by the voices.

The tall Vulcan strode through the common room and into the room where his wife lay still in bed. But she started up, tears springing into her eyes, at the sight of her child. "Sapel!"

"Mama!"

The boy wriggled down and ran into this mother's arms, both of them heedless of his filthy condition. Spock watched the reunion for a moment as Christine and Sapel chattered and wept, paying no attention to anything the other was saying. After a moment, Spock turned away and headed for the galley. He was starved and exhausted, still barely recovered from the _pon farr_ and he hoped that he could find enough for all of them to appease their raging hunger.

* * *

It had been over a week. Spock had forbidden Christine and Sapel to leave the ship while he thoroughly scoured the countryside for any sign of the intruders who had so threatened their lives. He had gone back to the lion's territory and searched, finding the dead man's phaser, which was of a configuration Spock had never seen before, and some detritus from his clothing.

At Sapel's cave, he found more blood and signs that a number of creatures had either died or been wounded here, all falling prey to the predators and scavengers that roamed the area. Nothing went to waste in this wilderness and there were only the vaguest hints that anything had ever lived here. Inside the little cave, though, Spock located a spent blaster much like the other one and a dead power pack. The man here didn't give up without a fight. He presumed this had been the one Sapel had shot. The boy's bow — broken — was lying nearby in the bushes.

Of Mooch, he could find no sign. From Sapel's description, he hadn't expected to, for he was sure that the pirate had shot her with his weapon set on full-charge kill. He doubted she would have felt anything. That, at least, was a small consolation, although it did not ease the heartache of his son or wife, both of whom desperately missed the little animal. Deep inside, Spock sympathized more than he could say. He too had lost his beloved pet, i'Chaya, on his own _kahs'wan_ and had never found any other creature that could quite take the _sehlat's_ place.

Now, ten days later, Spock had finally conceded that the pirates were truly gone but, like a man who has had his house burglarized, he remained watchful and fearful of their return. Where the invaders had struck once, they were likely to hit again.

He finally allowed his wife and child to venture out, but kept them in the vicinity of the ship. He wanted them where he could keep an eye on them and close to cover, should danger return.

Spock himself took up a guard post on the hill above the ship, near the same spot where he had meditated during his _pon farr_. From here he could see the valley and hopefully spot anyone who might approach. He knew, of course, that should the freebooters return, they were likely to appear in larger numbers and materialize aboard the little ship before anyone knew what was happening.

It made him nervous and all the more concerned. He had sat here on the hillside for four days now, forcing himself to forego sleep, eating only sparsely, alert to anything. Coming on the heels of the rigors of _pon farr_ , Spock was riding dangerously near his breaking point.

Christine was intensely aware of this as she climbed up the hillside to where her gaunt husband sat, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with green, his face ashen despite the deep bronzed hue from constant exposure to the sun. He was sitting with his forearms folded across his upraised knees, his face expressionless, his eyes almost glazed with fatigue, but at her approach he snapped alert and his brows bunched together a little more.

"Christine!" he said in a hoarse voice. "You shouldn't be up here. You are not recovered."

"I'm fine, Spock," she answered and sat down beside him. "I'm still a little sore, but I'm rested and ready to go again."

She gazed at him intently. "You, however, are about to collapse! You haven't had any rest at all since this whole thing started!"

"I cannot rest," he answered bleakly, letting his gaze roam back to the expanse stretching out before him. "If they should return—"

"You'd be too exhausted to do anything," Christine stated. "Spock, you're killing yourself by degrees up here and there would be very little you could do if they _did_ come back." She slipped her arm through his and snuggled closer to him, shocked for a second at the degree of fear she felt emanating from his psyche. Then she reached to caress his unshaven face and turned him to look at her. "Darling, I'm frightened, too. It's logical that you feel this way. But it's _not_ logical to react to that fear by self-defeating actions."

Spock quirked up a brow in response, but some of the old mischief began to show in his dark eyes once more. "Indeed, wife?" he answered.

Christine couldn't repress a smile. "Don't you remember what I told you a long time ago? The reason we're on this planet is because the Romulans wanted us dead." Her blues eyes hardened with determination. "I will not oblige them by dying ... and neither will you! We've got a child who needs us and another one on the way. And I will not, I repeat _not_ , lose this one! We've got things to do and plans to make!"

Feeling his heart overflow, Spock put his arm around his wife and hugged her to him. "You are indomitable!" he answered. "Are you certain you do not have the spirit of the Vulcan Mothers within your _katra_?"

"Nope, but I do have the blood of pioneer women in my veins," Christine replied, thrilling to the feel of her husband's arms once again. "When my ancestors moved into the Ohio River valley, it was virgin wilderness. And when their descendants emigrated to the Martian Colony, it was nothing more than a few pressure domes on a rock plain. And when the first settlers went on out into the stars in the first primitive warp vessels, my ancestors were there, too."

She pulled back and gazed into the depths of Spock's dark brown eyes. "Someday there will be settlers on this planet, too. Federation settlers. And we'll have been here first. Hell, we may even be here to meet them!"

There was such fierce determination in her face that Spock was hard-pressed not to allow a laugh of joy to erupt. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her, then drew back, a little smile playing on his lips. "I believe that we shall, my wife. I truly believe that we shall."

"Then don't sit up here and starve to death," she responded. "I've got supper ready. Come and eat." She got up and tugged on his hand. Dutifully, he rose to his feet, surprised to find that he swayed a little from exhaustion. "And after you eat," Christine continued, "you're going straight to bed!"

"Yes, my wife," he answered with a hint of amusement in his voice as they started down the hillside.

Spock couldn't help glancing around one more time, checking that all was as it should be, then followed Christine down to the little Romulan ship lying below. He still had many issues to consider — whether they should stay or go, the men he had apparently killed in the fury of his _plak tow_ , the trauma his wife and son had endured, where the future led — but Christine's logic was inarguable. He wouldn't solve it by killing himself the way he had been.

His wife turned and held out her hand to him and he gratefully took it in his. Her energy and spirit flowed into him through their bond and they turned to face that future together.

 

END OF PART SIX

PART SEVEN – "BEGIN AGAIN" – FOLLOWS

 


	7. Year Seven -- Begin Again

**Present Day**

The lull in the storm came so suddenly that they were all taken by surprise. Sapel looked up at the logs of the ceiling, which a moment before had been threatening to fly off, and asked, "Is it over?"

"No," Christine answered, hugging her two smallest children against her. "No ... It's the eye. It's passing over us."

"What eye?" ventured T'Jenn, huddling in her mother's arms. Her baby sister, T'Kai, was fast asleep, drool trickling down her chin from her position against Christine's breast.

"The eye of the storm," the woman answered, listening to the unnatural quiet.

Her middle child stirred and got down, going over to press against the sturdy thigh of her tall, dark-haired father. "Can it see us in here, Papa?" she whispered timorously.

Spock bent and picked her up, cradling the five-year-old in his arms as she clung to his neck. "No _, t'cha'i_ ," he replied softly in his deep baritone. "It's not an actual eye. It is simply called that. A hurricane swirls around a center point and it makes a calm spot where the wind doesn't blow. It will only last a few minutes, though, and then the wind will come back harder than ever."

His daughter buried her face in the long black thicket of his hair. "I don't want it to, Papa!" she whined, her muffled voice frightened. "I'm afraid!"

Spock patted her back gently. "We are safe here in our home, T'Jenn. The wind cannot reach us here."

"But I want it to be over!" she responded, still muffled.

"It will be," he assured her, "but not for a few hours yet. By morning it will have passed."

The child made another frightened moan, but seemed content to stay within the protection of her father's strong arms.

"Can we go out and see what it looks like, Papa?" asked Sapel, intrigued by the weather phenomenon.

"No, that would not be wise," Spock replied. "The eyewall will return suddenly and you might be caught outside. It is best to stay within sanctuary."

"Aww, I'll be careful!" his eleven-year-old son protested.

"No!" Spock said firmly.

Sapel subsided. Despite his show of bravura, he was intensely frightened, too. He vaguely remembered another storm like this at their seaside home but he couldn't quite remember when. And then it came to him.

There had been a storm of this magnitude on an early summer night five years before, when his mother had labored in the dark cabin to expel her newborn infant from her protesting body ... and had very nearly died in the process...

* * *

**Year Seven...**

Spock felt himself explode with rage as he watched the other man working away atop his wife. Christine lay passively beneath the stocky Human, a smile on her lips as she looked up into his sweating face, then she casually turned her head to gaze at Spock.

"Well?" she said. "Am I yours or his?" The Human looked his way as well and laughed.

The Vulcan roared as the burning in his blood became a firestorm and he surged forward in fury, his knife already in his hand. He fell on both of them, the razor-sharp hunting blade sinking again and again into flesh and bone, splattering red gore, heedless of whether it was male or female. Blood flew and drenched him, and then he dragged the man off his mate, taking him onto the floor beside the bed, the knife once more sinking repeatedly into the flailing body.

With a final howl of vengeance, Spock plunged the knife deep into the man's throat, grinding it against sinew and cartilage until the Human invader moved no more, a red tide pouring from the gaping wound across his throat. Spock dipped both hands in the draining lifeblood and rose, turning to the naked woman who still lay waiting before him.

Climbing between her spread thighs, he smeared the blood up over her breasts, up her throat and finally over her face. Then he set himself and plunged into her, slamming into her hard and deep, bruising her. Sinking his gory hands into her thick blonde hair, he gripped so tightly that tears formed in her eyes but she did not waver her cool, steadfast gaze locked onto his fevered one. More incensed than ever, he pounded into her brutally, feeling his orgasm near.

As at last he felt his gut release, he ground out, "Mine!" and, with the first explosion into her depths, bent his head and sank his teeth into her jugular, feeling her blood spurt hot into his throat—

With a cry of alarm, Spock bolted awake, sweat rolling off his naked body and soaking the sheets clinging to him. Beside him, Christine started awake as well.

"Spock?" she asked blearily, still in the grip of interrupted deep sleep. "What's wrong?"

He sat up, burying his face in shaking hands. "Nightmare," he mumbled, still trembling. "Another ... another nightmare."

Christine sat up as well, slipping her arm around his back. "The same one?"

"More or less," he answered, getting control of himself. "The man ... one of the men I killed ... raping you..." His voice broke and he took a moment to gather himself. "All the blood. I was reveling in it ... and in hurting you. It wasn't your fault! Why am I dreaming this?"

Pulling him closer, Christine leaned her head against his. "Sweetheart, dreams are very deep and complicated manifestations of the subconscious. Don't worry about it right now. I'm not making light of this but it's the middle of the night and I'm too brain-fuzzed to talk." She yawned hugely. "Lie back down and try to go back to sleep. It will be all right. We'll work this out in the morning."

Still troubled, Spock settled back against his pillow, comforted as Christine took him in her arms and cuddled him against her warm, soft body. He slid an arm across her waist and pulled her closer. "I am sorry I woke you with this," he said quietly.

She stroked his hair, soothing him as if he were a child. "Shhhh... Sleep now, love."

Spock closed his eyes and released a long, deep sigh against her neck. But he did not sleep, although her even breathing told him that she did. He lay quietly for two more hours then could not stay still any longer. Rising and quietly dressing, he took up his hunting spear and left the ship.

Dawn found him on his favorite perch on the hillside above the ship, his fingers steepled before him in meditation. This must be solved ... today. He could no longer go on with the conflicts in his soul and the violent dreams ripping him apart at night.

An answer must be found ... and found before he slept again.

* * *

As the midday sun beat down upon him, here on the crest of his hill, Spock closed his eyes and turned his face up to the welcomed warmth. It was high summer here on the savannahs, a time of sweltering temperatures, no rain, and a west wind that sucked any moisture out of the ground. Spock reveled in it. If he let his mind drift, he could almost imagine himself back on Vulcan, with its soothing heat and dry desert air.

He sighed and opened his eyes again, turning his gaze out over the endless yellow plains that stretched away to the east, dotted by thorn trees. The brilliance of the sun caused his inner nictitating membranes to slide into place, damping down the glare and sharpening his vision. Far away, a dust devil spiraled and danced through the heat shimmer of the afternoon, one of the few things moving at this time of day. There was a general lethargy that lay on the land during the heat of the afternoon and he was again minded of Vulcan and the rest periods in late day, when all things sought the shade and waited the coming of evening.

Spock did not do so here. It was never as hot on Terra Two as the summers reached on his home world. The red-orange glare of Las'hark ... of Eridani ... could kill even those acclimated to it. Nothing moved during the peak of the afternoon heat on Vulcan. Nothing.

Not so here. Away in the distance, Spock could see legions of animals grazing ... bovine‑like beasts in vast herds, thousands of the little _mesohippus_ -type horses, their gold and brown coats disappearing against the buff-colored grass. Horned deer-like animals in all sizes and with fantastic arrays of antlers crowing their heads. Occasionally the elephant-sized tree browsers like prehistoric ground sloths, placidly rearing up to strip the leaves from the ubiquitous thorn trees.

A menagerie enormous enough that Spock could have kept his family fed forever ... were it not for the multitudes of predators that were there also. A hunting party, a village, could have hunted successfully there, but not one man, one pregnant woman and a small boy.

There were simply too many carnivores on those plains to make it feasible. They ranged from the fierce lions, down through several species of progressively smaller "cats", two or three varieties of canids, and raptor-like birds that were big enough to carry off a calf ... or a six-year-old boy. There were ground-dwelling birds, too, nine feet tall when they stood to their full height, that more closely resembled bipedal dinosaurs than avians. They were flightless, but possessed of incredible speed and vicious claws that could rip out the belly of an animal before it could register its attacker's presence.

The rivers and waterways weren't safe either, for they were home to twenty-foot reptiles that lay submerged and watchful of prey. Spock had seen the crocodile-like animals completely dismember a buffalo within minutes, then sink back down to digest their meal and await the next one.

No, the savannahs of this planet were entirely too dangerous for three people to venture onto them. The game there was tempting, but Spock had no desire to risk all for the sake of a fat buck. He would keep his family here in the rocky hills where game was a bit more scarce, but so were the predators.

And then there were those other predators. His sense of personal safety violated by the pirates' invasion, Spock worried ceaselessly about his wife and child. He had very nearly lost his family and they had all been fortunate that only four had beamed down to investigate the site. He knew without a doubt what had drawn them — the distress signal that had been broadcasting all those years, set off by Sapel in his baby's innocence.

Were there others out there, homing in on the signal wave spreading out through space? When they arrived, as they surely would eventually, would they be Romulans or more slavers? Spock worried further that two of the pirates were not from a race he recognized. The ones that he had killed were both Human but they were well outside of Federation territory and undoubtedly owed allegiance to no government or authority other than themselves. But the ones Sapel described sounded almost reptilian. The only space-faring reptiloid race Spock could think of were the Gorn, and these invaders sounded almost Human in configuration.

He shook his head, the light breeze teasing his long black hair across his face. It had escaped the thong that normally kept it tied back into a tail falling in an inky cascade down his back, but the wind had loosed it. He absently tucked it back behind one pointed ear, too deep in thought to bother with the errant strands.

The dilemma that had been triggering his nightmares and which had set him here on this hillside since dawn boiled down to one of safety versus comfort. They had grown very content in the ship, taking for granted hot water and security behind metal walls and living again with the little amenities of 23rd century life. Spock had quickly appreciated the comfort of making love to his wife in a real bed, wrapped in soft sheets instead of coarse furs, feeling a mattress give slightly beneath him rather than the unyielding floor of a rocky cave.

Christine had been happier than he'd seen her in a long while, as well. It pleased him to hear her humming to herself as she prepared their meals on a galley stove rather than over an open fire, or to see her beauty brought out by a robe of Romulan silk rather than leather clothing from skins she had tanned herself. And Sapel had quickly taken to the delights of the computer's databank of knowledge and games. He could hardly bear to leave the world he had found in its tapes and disks.

Could he take them all away from that? Spock pondered, staring resolutely across the expanse of terrain before him. It was a very unpleasant world out there, full of dangers and death. Christine was beginning to feel the early effects of her pregnancy. It would be hard on her if she were forced to travel at a time when she was nauseated and fatigued, her body grappling with the demands of a part-alien fetus developing within her. She needed the quiet of their bedroom when morning sickness overcame her and she lay like one dead, willing her rebellious stomach to settle.

Sapel was struggling, too, with the aftermaths of his _kahs'wan_ and the loss of his beloved pet. Mooch had been a cherished companion and to see her life ended so brutally would have been hard on an adult, let alone a child. It was a harsh lesson in growing up and Spock regretted that his son was forced to face it so young.

And he himself was haunted by the two murders he had committed in the madness of his _pon farr_. Never mind that the men were bent on capturing all of them and that Spock had saved them from the slave pens of the Rim Worlds; he had killed in fury and insanity. He too needed time and solitude to work through his own trauma. Could he turn his back on this little haven in the wilderness? They had all felt safe here and he baulked at setting off once more into the unknown.

But Spock knew he was lying to himself, even as he mulled over those thoughts. They _weren't_ safe here. Not anymore. They had been found by the very people he had feared and something deep within his soul convinced Spock that they had to get away from here ... quickly and forever. No matter what it took. They had to get away.

* * *

Christine raised her head blearily from the pillow as Spock strode into their cabin and began to pull their few belongings from the room's storage locker. She had been lying here most of the day as her morning sickness stretched into the afternoon, refusing to completely go away. Sapel was playing in his room and Christine had been enjoying the restful quiet until now.

"Spock? What are you looking for?" she asked, puzzled by her husband's atypical behavior.

"Nothing," he answered cryptically, allowing their clothing to form a pile on the floor.

She sat up, still holding a cool, wet cloth to her forehead. "Then what are you doing?"

"Packing. We are leaving here."

"What?!"

"I said—"

"I heard you. What's going on?"

He emptied the closet and moved to their dresser drawers without answering. Exasperated, Christine got up and went to him, catching his arm. The agitation and fear that washed over her made her gasp and fall back in alarm, momentarily forgetting the nausea she had been experiencing. "What...?" she whispered, her eyes wide with terror.

Spock halted his actions and turned to her, feeling her own emotions sweep back at him through their link and at last forced himself to take control.

"I have meditated this entire day," he said, his deep brown eyes intent on her face. "Throughout it all, one conclusion kept leaping out at me. I cannot say whether my Ancestors are speaking to me on this matter or if it is what you would deem 'intuition'." He paused for a second, half expecting her to remark on his choice of words, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed on his face.

Continuing, he said, "Christine, everything within me says to leave this place. To get away. I cannot pinpoint the danger except to say that I fear your attackers will return, this time in force. What I am feeling is akin to panic. Perhaps it is an irrational fear—"

"No, Spock," she answered, her face paler than before. "One thing I have learned in my life is that, if your instinct is telling you to be afraid of something, you should listen to it. There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness. More people have been killed because they ignored their instincts than those who faced down legitimate fear."

One eyebrow quirked a bit and a little smile lifted the corners of his lips. "You are a philosopher," he answered.

"Maybe. What do you need me to do?"

He reached up to trail his fingertips along her cheek. "First, how are you feeling?"

Christine shrugged. "Like I need to puke most of the time, but I'll do what I have to do."

"I am sorry I cannot allow you to rest in a quiet bed," he replied, genuine regret in his voice. "I know your pregnancy is subjecting you to unpleasant side effects."

His wife shrugged again. " _Kai'idth_ ," she said in Vulcan. "No use crying over what can't be avoided." She looked up and sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

Spock stroked her hair and bent to kiss her lightly on the lips. "Get Sapel and the two of you pack as much as you can carry. I will be doing the same. If there is anything at all that you simply cannot bear to leave behind, then work it in. But remember... once we leave here, we will not return. Ever."

"Understood." He started to turn away but again she caught his arm. "Spock? Where will we go?"

He again looked thoughtful. "Sea Home," he said. "My ... 'instincts' tell me to go to the sea."

He saw a flash of fear go over her face. "You know what Sea Home is like in the summer," she answered. "The insects and the ... sea monsters, I guess you'd call them."

"It will be autumn by the time we get there," Spock replied. "I don't believe the insects will be a problem. As for the so-called sea monsters, I think they prey primarily on the sea mammals that come to our beach in the spring. If we are cautious, we should have no problems with them."

Christine nodded and looked down at the floor for a moment, remembering the near fatal incident when one of the plesiosaur-like sea creatures had nearly snared Sapel. "I hope you're right, Spock." Tears formed unbidden and she suddenly felt very weary. Sinking into her husband's strong arms, she laid her head against his chest. "I'm so tired of moving, moving, moving. I wish we could find one spot and stay there."

"So do I, beloved," he whispered back. "So do I." He held her for a moment more then pushed her gently away. "Now, we must hurry. I want to be away from here by first light."

* * *

His growing sense of urgency driving him, Spock had them away from the ship by the time the eastern sky had begun to grow dim with dawn. Sapel shed tears of fear and bewilderment, but shouldered his little pack and marched dutifully beside his mother. He understood all too well why they must leave, his memory vivid with the trauma of the events of just a month before. Moreover, he could feel his father's emotional state seeping through their familial bond. And it was also here that he had lost Mooch, something he could only barely stand to think about. He hated this place passionately and was almost happy to leave it.

Christine had packed as much of the medical supplies and easily transported foods as she could squeeze into her backpack. The little feminine luxuries had been foregone easily, although she did find room for one particularly lovely blue gown, light and soft as spider silk. Spock had liked to see her wearing it, but she was taking it for another purpose ... at least ultimately. It would serve as a warm, delicate wrap for the new baby, much softer than anything she could manufacture out of pelts.

Her morning sickness grappled with her constantly but she fought it down with a determination akin to Vulcan stoicism and forged on through the growing dawn. She almost blindly followed in Spock's footsteps, trusting in his better night sight to guide them. It wasn't light enough just yet to allow her to see their surroundings well.

And Spock led them south along the easiest route he could find while still maintaining some speed. They were still in territory they knew and, as the sun peeked above the horizon, she realized where he was taking them. It was a small grotto in the hills, a place where a spring seeped out of the limestone and flowed down to a water hole. There was some danger from animals coming to drink, but enough shelter that they would be safe.

Here Spock stopped and shrugged out of his heavy pack. Christine and Sapel gratefully did the same, Christine sinking down to lean against hers and close her eyes, working to quell her queasy stomach.

" _T'hy'la?_ " Spock asked, bending over her.

"I'm all right. Just give me a minute," she answered.

He nodded and reached to pull one of the phasers out of his own backpack, sticking it in his belt. "Rest here a while," he said, straightening. "I won't be gone long."

That made her look up at him. "Gone? Where?"

"Back to the ship," he responded, his face grim. "I have something I need to do there. I shall be back shortly."

With that he turned and strode away, back in the direction they had come, his long-legged gait taking him quickly out of their sight.

* * *

There was a palpable air of desertion around the area of the crashed Romulan ship. Nevertheless, Spock's sense of unease made him pause at the end of the clearing, watching and listening for any sign at all of danger. He had seldom felt such an overwhelming feeling of apprehension and he was more nervous than he could find logical reason for being. But something urged him to hurry, to do what he had come to do and then to get away, back to his family.

At last, he darted forward, across the cleared living area and up into the open hatch. There he paused again, but the ship was deathly quiet. He had planned already what he needed to do and without further hesitation, he made his way back to the engine room. All systems were completely shut down. He'd made sure of it this time. Now he was about to make certain that they would never be started again.

Pulling his phaser from his belt, he set it on a level that was just below "kill". It would generate intense heat, but was not quite at the level for full disintegration. Then, with a grim set to his face, Spock lifted the phaser and fired at the engine panels.

Sparks flew as the components exploded under the sun-bright blast and flames roared up as the plastics and wiring underneath caught fire.

Spock backed away from the heat, then hurried up the corridor to the parallel sleeping cabins. He stepped into Sapel's room first, taking a quick glance around to make sure the boy hadn't left anything, then fired at the bed. The sheets burst into flame quickly and spread with speed. Spock was already across the hall, in the room he had so recently shared with his wife.

There he paused once more, for a second letting the memories wash over him. So much had happened here, both good and bad. The nights of love and passion, the violence and sexual madness of the _pon farr_ , the barely-remembered murder of a man who had invaded the sanctuary of his home.

Something caught Spock's eye, a bright glint of metal lying atop the dresser, something Christine had left there. It was a ring, some of the jewelry that had belonged to the Romulan noblewoman who had owned this ship. The ring was of a silvery substance, with a light green stone set into its surface, flush with the metal. Nevertheless, it shone brightly and Christine had been attracted to its simple beauty.

Spock picked it up and tucked it into a secure fold of his tunic, then retreated to the doorway. There he stopped and sprayed the bright beam of the phaser over the bed linen and carpet, setting them ablaze.

The ship was filling with smoke as the fire spread and he rapidly made his way to the cockpit. The phaser made short work of the control panels, the instrument panels and switches bursting under the beam's power. The pilot and co-pilot's seats erupted in flame and blazed up quickly.

Satisfied, Spock ran for the main hatchway, pausing for a scant second to make sure the coast was clear. Then he leaped free of the burning ship and dashed for cover.

His escape was not a moment too soon for, barely had he left the ship when roaring flames filled the common area and exploded through the hatchway. Flashover had nearly caught him as fire engulfed the interior of the ship and took every flammable substance within her.

He watched until the heat drove him farther back, then he turned and ran, unsure suddenly if there was anything highly explosive within the ship that might prove catastrophic. Indeed, there was a small explosion near the stern, but nothing that was significant.

He was well away when the black roiling smoke had climbed high enough into the blue sky to dim the rising sun and spread its pall across the eastern plains.

* * *

"Mama, look!" Sapel exclaimed, pointing.

Christine stood up and immediately saw what her son was gaping at ... a tall column of dark smoke billowing up into the clear morning air and wafting eastward on the prevailing wind. "What in heaven's name...?" she started.

There was a rustling sound and Spock appeared, winded from his mile-long jog but looking relieved nevertheless. He plopped down, his back to the rock face, and gulped, "I need water!"

His wife immediately handed him the water bag and he spent the next few minutes sipping small amounts. Even parched from a run, his Vulcan upbringing prevented him from drinking too much too fast.

Christine waited until he had caught his breath, then demanded, "What happened?! Is the ship on fire?"

He nodded, taking one last mouthful of water and letting it slide down his throat. "I set it afire," he answered. At her startled expression, he added, "I decided to make sure that, should anyone ever trace that signal back again, they would find only a burned out hulk."

"But if it's rescuers..."

"It is more likely to be pirates," he interrupted. "I would rather we live as we are, for the rest of our lives, than be taken by slavers."

His dark eyes held her blue ones for a long moment then she nodded. "I agree," she said softly. "Are you rested ? Then we ought to get moving."

"Indeed," he replied. He stood and peered down at his wide-eyed son. "Do you need a drink, Sapel? Or to relieve yourself before we get started once more?"

"No, sir," the boy answered, still staring at the distant column of smoke. "Did you really set it on fire, Papa?"

"Yes. Here, get your pack fitted on." He held the bundle while his son slipped his arms through the straps and adjusted it. Then Spock helped his wife to don her pack and shouldered into his own, hefting it into place and seating it comfortably.

He and Christine both turned for a last look at the home that had nearly been the end of them, then they all turned their faces toward the south and set out through unexplored territory.

* * *

The ship was still burning at midday, although not as fiercely, when two figures shimmered into existence not far away. Both were Cardassian, a man and a woman, both of them with blasters drawn and ready to return any attack launched against them. The man's left shoulder and upper arm were heavily bandaged but his right hand wielded his weapon smoothly.

When they had ascertained that all was still, the two relaxed a bit and stared in awe at the smoldering ruins of the Romulan yacht. "What happened here?" the woman asked her companion.

He shook his head. "I don't know. It looks like they were attacked and the ship deliberately destroyed. Who do you think..."

The Cardassian woman glanced at her mate apprehensively. "I don't know. There weren't any other operations in this sector before ... but it's been a turning and a half since you were hurt here. Somebody could have moved in on us."

The man showed strong teeth clenched together. "Fuck! I wanted that little bastard that shot me! Now I've missed my chance!"

"Maybe not," his mate replied. "Whoever got them is bound to be headed for border space. It's the closest place they could sell them and turn a profit. It wouldn't take much to make inquiries and get our eyes to keep a lookout for barbarians up for sale. Elxer owes me a favor. He'll know what's going on."

The male Cardassian nodded and his mouth spread into a lop-sided grin. "Ulli, I would be lost without you." He activated his communication device and spoke into it. "Tarak, beam us up. Somebody beat us to the punch down here. Get ready to warp out for Bellasana as soon as we're aboard."

The hum and tinkle of transportation sounded through the clearing, and then there was only the sound of burning duraplas and sagging metal struts as the ship collapsed in on itself.

* * *

With every step south, Spock felt the burden lift from his shoulders. It no longer mattered that the physical pack he carried was larger and heavier than either of those borne by his wife or son. The psychological load was dissolving like morning mist and, for the first time in weeks, he knew freedom and peace.

Their path led them deeper into the hills that rolled in gentle wooded folds to the horizon. It was better watered here, springs of incredibly pure water bubbling and seeping from cracks in the limestone that capped the hills, the trees more dense than on the arid plains to the east. Undergrowth was sparse and the travelers moved at an easy pace below the leafy canopy that shaded them from the harsh summer sun.

Nevertheless, Spock pushed them until they were about ten miles from the ship, then finally called a halt for rest and food. Christine was exhausted, her pregnancy stretching her endurance very thin. Twice along the way, she had been forced to turn aside and vomit, her nausea getting the best of her, but after a few minutes she had insisted they keep going. She had vowed that she would not restrict their flight to safety and she had kept her promise. Now, however, she gratefully shucked her pack and sat down to lean against it, her eyes closed.

Sapel dumped his pack and knelt beside her, placing his hand on her forehead. "Mama?" he asked. "You okay?"

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "I'm okay, sweetie," she answered. "Just tired, that's all."

Spock brought her water and crouched down, helping her manage the unwieldy bag. "Slowly, _t'hy'la_ ," he said as she took a sip. When she had drunk, he poured a bit into his palm and bathed her sweaty face with it. "There. Is that better?"

She nodded. "Would you get me a piece of bread, Spock?" she asked, closing her eyes again. "I think it will help me settle my stomach."

"I'll get it, Mama!" Sapel interjected and leaped up to retrieve a piece of their cracker-like bread from her pack.

Spock stroked his fingertips along her cheek. "We'll camp here, _aduna_. Once I get the tent set up, you can rest and sleep. I'm afraid you didn't get much last night and I have forced you to walk much too far today."

Too fatigued to protest, she nodded. "That would feel good," she murmured.

Sapel returned and handed her the bread. "Here, Mama. Do you want anything else?"

His solicitous manner brought yet another smile. "Thank you, lovey. No ... You just help Papa get camp set up, okay? I'll feel better once I rest a little bit then we'll have some lunch."

Both her men left her to nibble on the cracker and sip a little water to wash it down. She felt a bit guilty at not helping them, but they were managing just fine and she made herself sit and watch. Spock unrolled the bullhide tent and he and Sapel had it raised into a protective canopy within ten minutes or so, a shelter from any weather that might blow up, but with ventilation space around the bottom to allow for cooling air flow. Then Spock assigned his son to gather firewood in the immediate vicinity, admonishing him to stay within sight since this area was new to them. Sapel obeyed scrupulously, still too affected by his recent _kahs'wan_ to risk venturing away from his parents.

Within another half hour, Spock had a small blaze going in a ring of hearth stones and was heating water for tea. As it came to a boil, he laid down their sleeping hides inside the shelter of the tent and urged Christine to lie down. She protested that she was feeling much better now, but she did slip off her moccasins and let her bare toes enjoy the comparative cool underneath the trees. The simmering heat of the day was beginning to be felt but was at least moderated by the thick foliage above them.

They dined on journey bread — wafers of grain and fruit pounded together — and smoked mutton, then divided between them one small disk of a cookie-like treat that had been in the food saver of the Romulan ship. Neither Spock nor Christine had any idea what it was, but it was sweet and crunchy and they all loved the flavor. There was maybe a dozen left and they had packed those along with their other foods.

Afterwards, Sapel's own fatigue caught up with him and he lay down beside his mother underneath the tent, quickly falling into a deep sleep. Christine soon found it too hot to share the bedspace with her son and came to sit beside Spock under the shelter of a huge oak-like tree. He had long since removed his shirt and shoes and was clad only in fringed leather leggings and loincloth, enjoying the summer heat and sleepy quiet of the woods. His black hair spilled over his muscular bronzed shoulders, their slightly verdant patina seeming deeper here in the emerald shade and filtered sun.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes ebon beneath his sweeping dark brows, and smiled at the sight she presented. During their hike, Christine had been wearing clothing similar to his, but the building afternoon heat had compelled her to strip down to halter and breechcloth, leaving her all but naked. Her long sun-streaked hair braided into a single plait that fell to her waist, her skin tanned to a warm chestnut, she was almost ethereal as she glided through the shadows, ripe with womanhood and fertility, but not yet showing the evidence of her pregnancy.

Spock felt his heart pound with the knowledge that this beautiful creature was his mate and carried within her the child of his seed. His _katra_ sang with joy and hers answered back in full measure. As she settled beside him, Spock slid an arm around her bare shoulders and pulled her into a loose embrace, content that she should choose to rest at his side.

She snuggled and sighed, "Mmmmm ... it's been too long since we did this."

"Indeed," he answered. "The past few weeks have not been conducive to quiet afternoons. I find this most pleasurable."

She laughed softly at his formality, then their conversation trailed off for a while, both of them dozing lightly in the heat.

After some time, leaning into the wonderful security of his arms, Christine became aware of a low but increasing tightness deep within her, centering in the core of her womanhood and radiating outward. The warm masculine smell of Spock's skin and the rise and fall of his bare chest beneath her resting palm served to strengthen the feeling, his maleness radiating from him in almost tangible waves and causing her to smile a little in response as her body identified and answered it. With a sigh that was both contented and sensual, she flexed her fingers into the dark hair on his chest and moved against him.

Perceiving her change of mood at once, Spock opened his eyes and peered mildly at her, sending back a speculative impulse. It was response enough to encourage her. She snuggled closer against him and began to slowly and softly move her hand over the firm pectoral muscles lying beneath her palm, tickling her fingers through his chest hair and finally down to glide almost negligently over his hardening nipples.

"I thought you were experiencing nausea," he commented softly.

"It's all better," she replied. "The food helped a lot."

"I see. Still it might be wise to allow it to remain quiet. I would hate to agitate it once again."

"Mmmm... I'll let you know if things get too stirred up." She shifted a little and lifted her face up in invitation, one that he accepted with barely any hesitation. They kissed softly, exploring with gentle probing of tongues and movements of lips, not yet passionately or urgently, merely with adoration and familiar intimacy.

When they parted, Spock asked, teasing her, "What about Sapel? I do not wish to awaken him."

"Then we'll just have to be quiet," she replied, her arm slipping up around his neck to pull him back to her lips.

After their lips parted, Spock gazed speculatively down at her and murmured, "No, I don't think it wise, although I need you, too, _t'hyla._ But I have an alternative."

He brought his long fingers up to her meld points and she readily allowed him entry. In her mind, they were both unclothed and he gently lifted her astride his hips and, with an immediately comprehending smile, she settled down upon him. As he took hold of himself and steadied his erection, she sank onto his ready manhood, sheathing him to the hilt within her.

The entry of his solid heat was too delicious for words and none were needed between them. She settled fully onto him, savoring the sensation of fullness. The firestorm of their combined need sent them both rapidly to completion, whirling aloft in the spiraling updrafts and finally exploding together in a cacophony of sparks and pyrotechnics of fused sexual passion. It was some minutes before the conflagration waned into embers and they came back to themselves, still mentally joined, panting softly with the aftermath of rapture. They had barely moved physically, but their mental actions had been evanescent.

Christine rested her forehead against Spock's chest. "Oh..." she sighed. "Now I do need to sleep. I'm worn out!"

He smiled and caressed her cheek. "I have something for you first," he answered.

That brought her upright. "Something?" she repeated, clearly puzzled. "What?"

Spock reached down to the little leather pouch he wore next to his knife, where he carried spare arrow points and fire flints and other small necessaries. From it he produced the silver ring he had retrieved from the Romulan ship and held it up for her to see.

Her blue eyes lit up at the sight of it. "But I left that..."

"Yes, I know." His manner grew serious and his gaze caught and held hers. "Christine, I know that among your people it is the custom of bonded mates to exchange tokens to symbolize their joining. A ring is the most usual token in your culture. We were never formally joined in ceremony but you have been the wife of my heart since you came to me during the first _pon farr_ I experienced here. I had nothing to give you then to symbolize our joining. I wish to do so now."

Her breath had begun to come in short, shallow gasps and her eyes had grown bright with a film of tears. "You don't have to give me anything, Spock. You know that."

"But I wish to," he replied and took up her left hand, sliding the ring onto her third finger. As he did so, he looked back into her eyes and said softly, "Christine Marie Chapel, with this ring, I thee wed, and take thee as my lawful wife until death do us part."

Tears were now truly spilling down her cheeks and she whispered in return, "Spock cha'Sarek, son of the House of Surak and master of my heart and hearth ... I take thee as my lawful husband and pledge myself to thee ... until death do us part."

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him long and full, until she finally broke for air and the joyous laughter that bubbled out of her. "Oh, Spock, I love you!" she exclaimed, hugging him fiercely even as he was doing the same to her. She kissed him again, radiating passion and love, and she felt within her the response of his body to her ecstatic state.

* * *

They traveled south at an easy pace, accommodating Christine's nausea and fatigue. When she felt up to it, they walked as long as she was able or until they found an area that suited them for camp. Then they might stay there for several days in order for them all to rest and for Spock to hunt and replenish their food supply. Along the way Christine and Sapel gathered fruits and plants, refilled their water bags at springs and clean flowing streams, and marveled at the new types of animals they saw.

The landscape had gradually changed as they moved south, the rocky hills smoothing out into a more arid region, almost desert-like, and the amount of game dwindled as a result. The flora was no longer lush and thick, but took on the characteristics of all plants that must survive in a dry region. They were spiny and small-leafed, long bereft of fruit or succulence here at the end of the summer season, offering little in the way of food.

Of the fauna, very little moved during the day. However, at twilight, rabbit-like browsers appeared from underground dens to graze on the limited vegetation, and miniature goats came down from the rocks to drink and nibble at the scrubby trees that grew in thickets wherever there was a water source. They looked to be well-fed, despite the sparse pickings, and more than one had fallen victim to Spock's swift aim and bowshot.

There were predators in this area, too, and the main one seemed to be a small relative of the big marsupial lions that roamed the plains farther north. At least they looked cat-like, from the few glimpses they had caught of them. The little carnivores were rarely seen, but their spoor was often visible in the mornings along with evidence of a kill — some fur, bloodstained sand, signs of a scuffle. Christine had seen one of the cats at sunrise just the previous morning and was struck by its beauty. It was too far away to view clearly, but she could make out that its coat was golden and covered with black spots. Then it had disappeared among the rocks.

On this particular evening, Spock had gone to check a snare he had set near one of the rabbit warrens and Christine was enjoying the evening breeze that sprang up every day as the day's heat lifted. It still held the blast-furnace temperature of the day, but it was a dry heat, one that felt oddly soothing. It spiraled up into thermals over the low hills and dozens of graceful, hawk-like birds came to ride the upwellings, searching in the last rays of the day for the rabbits that would emerge to forage.

Christine was enjoying the hawks' spiral flight as she waited for her husband's return. Nearby, Sapel was moodily practicing his marksmanship by repeatedly shooting his quiver of arrows into a fleshy cactus-like plant that was currently substituting for more satisfying prey.

He had said little during their journey and Christine had been watching him closely. The loss of Mooch and the trauma of his _kahs'wan_ had changed her son in subtle ways. On the one hand, he seemed more grown up, somehow more mature, if that was possible in one so young. But on the other, she had many times seen the glint of tears on his cheeks as they walked, his face stoically Vulcan, but his eyes those of a wounded Human child who had for the first time lost a cherished companion and did not know how to deal with it.

He wouldn't talk about it, either, the Vulcan part of him locking it away inside his soul and shrugging off her attempts at comfort. In private, she had expressed her concern to Spock but he, though likewise troubled, had advised her to allow Sapel time. "Grief is a personal matter," he answered, thinking back over the many, many losses that had punctuated his own life. "A person must grieve for himself. You cannot do it for him, my wife. Each of us walks his own pathway. Though we may accompany them for a while, ultimately we each walk alone."

Christine still wanted desperately to comfort her son, but he rejected any coddling right now. Spock was right. Sapel would have to work this out for himself. He would talk when he was ready and she would have a ready ear when he did.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention and she looked up to see Spock come striding back into camp, his strung bow over one shoulder and a brace of rabbits dangling from one hand. He held the other hand lightly pressed against the chest of his wrapped jerkin but she thought nothing of it. He often collected plant foods and stuck them inside his shirt for easy transport. He appeared to have found quite a lot today.

She came to take the rabbits from him. "Nice fat ones," she commented, holding them up. "Good hunting?"

"Yes," he answered, propping his bow against the tent and hanging his quiver from one of the poles. "There is a huge warren site there. There must be dozens, maybe hundreds, living in those rocks. We should be able to trap more than enough to sustain us until we move on."

"Well, I'll just get these cleaned up and roasting for supper," she smiled back, then noticed that he was still holding his hand over his chest. "Did you find some fruit or tubers? Let me get these rabbits started and I'll fix those, too."

"No, it's not tubers," Spock answered with a mischievous little twinkle in his dark eyes.

Christine paused, staring at him in a puzzled manner. "Not tubers?"

"No. Sapel! Come here! I have something for you!" the tall Vulcan called.

The boy looked curious as he dutifully collected his arrows and came back to where his parents were standing. "You got something, Papa?" he asked. "What?"

"This," Spock answered and reached underneath the front wrap of his jerkin. What he drew out was a fist-sized ball of golden fluff and huge green eyes.

For a second, absolute delight and wonder spread over Sapel's face and his mouth widened in a grin, then abruptly the expression vanished into a dour scowl. "I don't want it!" he declared and whipped around, stalking away.

Christine stared after him in dismay, then turned back to her husband, reaching out to take the tiny creature he was still holding. "Oh, Spock! Where did you find it?" She cradled the trembling little animal against her, stroking it soothingly.

It was a hunting cat cub, not much bigger than a Terran domestic housecat kitten. Its fur was thick and sand-colored, already showing the black spots that would develop in splendor later on. Its ears were hugely oversized, the mark of a desert animal, black and with tufts of hair sprouting from their tips. Its eyes were gold-green and seemed too big for its ravishingly pretty little face.

Spock smiled as Christine cuddled the baby and comforted it. "There was a hunting cat raiding my rabbit snares. I attempted to drive it off, but it stood its ground and then charged me. I had no alternative but to kill it. Once I examined it, I discovered that it was a female with this baby in her pouch. I couldn't very well leave the cub to die, so I brought it back." He sighed and looked in the direction his son had gone. "I had hoped that Sapel might accept it as a replacement for Mooch."

Christine followed his glance then looked back at him. "He's not ready yet," she said softly. "He loved Mooch very much." Her gaze dropped to the cub in her arms, its trembling slowly beginning to abate. "Well, I want you, sweetie-pie," she announced. "You are absolutely gorgeous!"

She looked up into her husband's face then stretched to kiss him. "Thank you, Spock. You're right. You couldn't leave this baby to die. I'll watch over it while I clean those rabbits. Why don't you go see how Sapel is doing?"

He nodded. "Agreed, wife." He turned and walked away, following the direction Sapel had taken.

* * *

Sapel was huddled atop a rocky outcrop when Spock approached him. Hurriedly, the boy wiped his face and straightened his expression into a semblance of normality.

"Walk with me, Sapel," his father said and continued on at an easy pace among the scrubby thorn plants now stretching long shadows in the evening light.

Sapel quickly scrambled up and caught up with the man.

Spock had paused and was standing with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, looking out over the vista of desert stretching before him. The boy stood quietly with him, wondering if he was about to receive a lecture about rejecting the kitten.

After a long silence, Spock commented, "It is logical to grieve when someone of importance to us dies, Sapel, but you must also realize that grief will not bring them back."

"I know that," the child answered grudgingly.

"It is part of the cycle of life. Every living thing reaches the end of its existence. That is how it should be."

"But Mooch didn't just die, Papa! She was killed!" Sapel burst out, then subsided again. "She would still be here if..."

"If she hadn't attacked that invader," Spock finished for him evenly. "If she hadn't followed you back to camp. If she hadn't accepted food from you in the first place back after the tornado. If ... if ... if ..." Spock looked down at his son and added with some compassion in his voice, " _Cha'i_ , there are no absolutes in life. Things do not depend on 'if'. If that hunting cat hadn't been raiding my rabbit snares, if she hadn't charged me, if I'd let her have our food ... then she would still be alive and her cub would still be in its mother's pouch."

"I know," Sapel answered, looking down at the ground. "But I want Mooch back, Papa! I don't want a dumb ol' kitten."

"Son, I did not bring the kitten back to take the place of Mooch," Spock answered earnestly. "I brought it back because I was responsible for killing its mother and that made me responsible for the baby's welfare. I do not belittle your love for Mooch. Far from it. I understand all too well how you feel now."

Sapel looked up at him, surprised. "You do?"

"Yes. When I was your age, I had a pet whom I cherished. He was a Vulcan animal called a _sehlat_ and his name was i-Chaya. He had been my father's ... your grandfather's ... before me and he was my guardian and friend." Spock gazed down at his son, noting suddenly how much the boy resembled himself as a child. "On my own _kahs'wan_ , I went into the desert for my survival test and i-Chaya followed me. It was fortunate that he did so, because I was attacked by a lion and i-Chaya fought it to save me. In the process he was mortally wounded and he died. I have never forgotten him or that his actions saved my life."

Sapel sniffed and looked down at his feet again. "That was a long time ago, though."

"But to me it is as fresh as if it happened yesterday," Spock answered softly. "I ... Loved i‑Chaya, just as you loved Mooch. But life went on and I had to go on with it. It did not mean that I ever forgot my friend. You will never forget Mooch. But it is time to move on now, Sapel."

"I suppose," the boy muttered.

"Good," his father nodded. "Now, I believe that your mother could use some help. We have two nice big rabbits to clean for supper and she would like some tubers chopped as well. Come."

"Yes, Papa," Sapel answered in a subdued manner, as they turned back to camp.

* * *

"This is no good," Spock said, coming to a halt. He was dirty, sweaty and covered with scratches on every exposed surface of his skin, leaving him laced with a fine green network of oozing scrapes.

Behind him, Christine and Sapel were in no better shape, identical to his condition except that their scratches bled crimson instead of emerald. Only Scruff, scampering among the thorn bushes in their wake, seemed thoroughly at home. Indeed, the nearly impenetrable brush was the hunting cat's home and she eagerly followed the myriad scents that wove among the thick branches.

Spock turned back to his wife. "We cannot get through here."

"I wholeheartedly agree!" Christine answered, wiping her grimy face on the hem of her tunic. It did little more than smear the dust and sweat into a thin layer of mud. "Okay, then ... To the rear — MARCH!"

The three started back the way they had come, forcing their way once more between the low thorn trees and spiky desert plants through which they'd been traveling most of that day. As they had gone further south, the landscape had become more hostile, until all that seemed to grow were the thickets of twisted, stunted trees, their thin leaves hiding within their deceptively pleasant shade thorns more than an inch long. Worse, the trees swarmed with tiny, bad-tempered biters, ready to defend their homes at the lightest brush of an interloper.

It had been a miserable day's travel until Spock finally called a halt. He had hoped that they would be able to follow the hills all the way to the sea coast, but this desert region had intervened. There was no water to be had here and the plants all jealously guarded their own stock, swathed by thick, tough bark, the inevitable thorns and their armies of insects.

Spock had finally given in to the logic of turning east across the plains toward the big river he knew was there, then following it south until they reached Sea Home. He had been reluctant to do so, however, for he did not want to expose his family to the dangers of the teeming plains. Now it seemed he had no choice.

That night, they camped beside the last little creek that flowed out of the hills and Christine tended their wounds as best she could. She was now about four months pregnant and her initial nausea had passed, along with the terrible fatigue that accompanied it. As her second trimester began, she was feeling energized and fit, her appetite back with a vengeance, and her attitude vastly improved.

"Ow!" Sapel yelled, flinching as his mother dabbed a wet chamois against a particularly deep scratch. "Mama! That hurts!"

"Hold still," she replied, peering closely at the wound. "There's still part of a thorn in there. Spock, would you sterilize my knife in the fire for a moment, please?"

"What?!" Sapel responded in panic as his father moved to comply. "What are you gonna do??"

"I'm going to get that thorn point out," Christine answered calmly, her medical persona fully in charge. "Otherwise, it will fester and turn septic."

"Nooo!!" the boy wailed, trying to jerk his arm back out of his mother's grip. She held him firmly, however. "It'll hurt!! I don't want you to!!"

"It won't hurt, Sapel," she retorted, her brows coming together a bit harder, "unless you fight and make it worse. Now, just hold still. This will only take a minute."

"Noooo!" Sapel struggled furiously as Spock knelt beside him and handed Christine her steel hunting knife.

"Sapel! Stop fighting me!" She sighed and looked at her husband. "Spock, hold him for me. That thorn has got to come out."

Spock calmly took hold of his son's arm and held it immobile, his vast Vulcan strength like an iron vice. "Sapel, be still," he said in a soft, deep voice that commanded the boy's attention. "You must comply with this. Your mother is our healer and she must be obeyed."

Sapel froze in incipient terror as Christine bent over the scratch and gently teased the thorn point out of his flesh. It only took a few seconds, then she straightened, holding the knife for him to see.

"There," she smiled. "All that fuss over that." She indicated the tiny, dark bit of matter on the tip of the blade. "I know it doesn't look like much, but it would have hurt a lot more in a couple of days when your arm was swelled up with pus and I really had to cut into it."

Feeling foolish, Sapel shrugged and pulled away from Spock's grasp, his father now willing to free him. "I guess..."

"Do you have any other scratches that hurt?"

"On my leg," the child admitted.

"Let me see."

Grudgingly, Sapel stuck his right leg out and Christine examined the long red line streaked across it. "Hmm ... that was a deep one, but it's clear. No thorn bits. I need to clean it and then you're all done." She did so and released her son to finish his supper and get ready for bed. "Now, Spock, it's your turn."

"I have no injuries worth speaking of," he answered calmly.

"Nope. Don't give me that. You were on point through that brush," his wife responded. "Skin those clothes off and let me look at you."

"Really, Christine, there is no need..."

"Strip!" she ordered, then softened her tone. "Then you can look me over as well. I know I've got a few places that need tending."

"Very well." Spock took off his jerkin and leggings, already barefoot after shedding his moccasins when they had set up camp. Christine examined him closely, peering with concern at a cluster of angry, green pustules on his left hand and forearm.

"Those are ant bites. Not much I can do but let them run their course," she mused. "They'll be really sore and itchy for a few days, but they should heal okay. Be sure and keep them clean so they don't get infected."

"Of course."

"The rest of your scratches aren't too bad." She straightened. "Okay, my turn. Take a good look at this place on my side. It feels like there may be something in there."

She had long ago shed her traveling clothes and was clad only in halter and loin cloth, the outfit she normally wore in hot weather. Spock did a cursory check of her scrapes and bites, finding them minor, but then turned his attention to the inflamed wound partway around her back, low on her left ribs.

"Turn to the light more," he instructed her and bent for a closer look. "There is indeed 'something in there'!" he commented. "There is nearly a whole thorn embedded. Little wonder that it is bothering you."

He took her knife, cleaned it and held it in the fire for a moment, then after letting it cool, he turned back to Christine, who was still bent awkwardly to allow him access to the thorn wound. "This may hurt," he said quietly.

"I'm ready. Do it."

She did her best not to flinch and he was as gentle as possible, but it took several minutes before he was able to extract the long thorn from under her skin. "I'm afraid that may be quite painful for a few days," he said as he straightened to show her the quarter-inch long needle of bark.

"I have some crushed kaolin left in my med kit," she answered. "Make a thick clay of it and plaster it over the wound. That should draw out any infection and serve as a bandage."

He followed her instructions, mixing a little of the powdered clay with water until it formed a slick brown-gray sludge. This he carefully daubed onto her wound and left it to dry. "Do you have any left?" she asked. "Good. Put that on Sapel's two worse places and, if there's any left over, smear it on those ant bites."

Spock did so, then washed his hands in the little stream by their camp. It was dark by now and he settled back beside his wife and son around their campfire, ever vigilant of their surroundings. As Christine dished out their meager supper of roast rabbit and bread, they listened to the awakening sounds of the savannah night. There were distant roars and barks, peeps and whirrs, hooting calls and answering chirps. The participants of this symphony were mostly unknown, but Scruff sat rigid and attentive, her huge ears pricked as she took in each sound, her huge green eyes round and dilated in the dark.

Christine clicked her tongue softly and the kitten turned toward her inquisitively. The woman tossed some of the less desirable bits of rabbit toward her and the cat pounced on them, pinning them instinctively before settling down to gnaw at the bones with a contented expression.

Christine turned back to face her husband. "Well, where to tomorrow?"

Spock gave a light sigh and looked out across the dark prairie. "East. We seem to have no choice unless we intend to go all the way back to the northern valley. However, the herds will already be migrating in this direction. It would make little sense to return there at this time of year."

"No, we'd be coming down this way in any case," Christine agreed. "How far do you think it is to the river?"

Spock was silent for a moment, attempting to calculate with a distinct lack of information. "Difficult to be precise. I would estimate two days. Perhaps three. I do not wish to tarry as we cross the plains. I want to be across them as quickly as we can."

"Then we need to make an early start. I'm beat anyway." She glanced over at her son, who was stretched out on his stomach watching Scruff working at getting the last bits of meat off a bone. "Sapel, you get ready for bed soon. We've got a long walk tomorrow."

* * *

Two days had brought them nearly all the way across the plains to the wide river that meandered southward toward the sea. They could see its sinuous line snaking across the savannah still some miles away, its course lined with trees that had taken root along its waterway. Immediately to their south, outcroppings of craggy rocks pushed their way up above the grasslands, forming islands in the waving yellow sea through which the family waded.

Spock, leading the way, was busy pondering whether they could reach the river by nightfall or even if they should attempt it. Behind them, the red sun was resting on the horizon line and sending long purple shadows stretching out before them. The eastern sky had not yet begun to darken, but it would within a half hour or so. Already he could see the creamy disks of the three moons of Terra Two rising, full tonight. That meant that the plains would be well lighted this evening and hunters were sure to take advantage of the situation.

Around them, the herds of antelope and horse, bison and the huge browsers that looked like ground sloths were beginning to bunch into their night time configurations, readying themselves for the predators that must already be moving out to begin their search for food. Spock turned back to estimate the distance to the river and decided it was too far tonight.

He halted and waited for his wife and son to catch up. "We'll make camp," he announced. "Those rocks over there look like a good place." He pointed toward the large outcropping bulking up in the gently fading light. Before it was a smaller, smoother boulder rearing its grey hulk out of the grass. Spock started toward it. "You and Sapel go on to the hillock. I want to get a better vantage point to sight the river. I believe we should be able to make it well before noon tomorrow, but I want to be sure."

Christine hefted her pack and headed to the craggy, rocky hill, scanning it for a good spot to camp. Sapel trudged after her, weary from the miles they had covered and anticipating what they would have for supper. Spock moved off toward the boulder, his strung bow in hand, but with no arrow nocked. Overhead, flocks of little birds were swirling in to roost high on the outcrops, disappearing into holes and cracks, twittering madly as they carried on their evening conversations.

Spock looked up at their fluid acrobatics and smiled a little, fascinated by the way the flock stayed together through all its twists and turns. Watching the birds, he paid scarce attention to his surroundings, enjoying the peacefulness of the early twilight.

Without warning the grass in front of him erupted into a bulky, bawling grey form that thundered off toward the big boulder before Spock could register what had occurred.

What happened next took place in only a minute.

In the same instant that Spock leaped back in shock and Christine and Sapel jerked around, startled by the noise, the huge grey boulder heaved itself up out of the grass with an angry bellow and swung in Spock's direction, revealing a monstrous animal like some Pleistocene nightmare. It was the size of an elephant, built vaguely like a moose, and sported a pair of vicious looking nasal horns on its long muzzle, one after the other, like a rhino. The smaller animal galloped behind it, still bawling, and it was immediately evident that this was a cow and calf. Spock had blundered into the little one in the long grass.

He made a move to back away, knowing enough not to run, but the cow had spotted him. With a deep, full-throated snort, she lowered her head and charged.

Christine screamed and darted toward her husband, hampered by her heavy pack and pregnant body. Spock saw her out of the corner of his eye and gave a harsh cry of denial that was directed both at his wife and at the rampaging cow, all the while scrambling frantically out of the animal's way, his right hand fumbling desperately for an arrow in his quiver.

"Yiiiiii!!!" Christine screeched, waving her hands in the air to distract the beast away from Spock and give him time to get away.

It worked. Confused by the noise and motion, the huge animal faltered in her charge and her eye pinned the yelling woman. Perceiving Christine as another predator, she lowered her head once more, changing course in mid-gallop.

"Christine, no!!!" Spock yelled. He was running now, nocking an arrow onto his bow as he plummeted through the long grass. A vision out of hell had flashed across his memories as soon as the cow had turned toward his wife — a replay of the horror they had experienced four years before, when Christine, pregnant with their second child, had nearly been killed by a bison and had lost the baby as a result.

 _Not again! Not again!_ his mind clamored at him and he let the arrow fly.

The shaft sank deep into the cow's right shoulder and she swerved with a startled, angry bellow, biting at the source of the sudden pain. Behind her, the calf was still squalling at the top of its voice, the pandemonium further whipping the injured cow into a murderous frenzy.

"Christine, get to the rocks!!" Spock ordered, already setting another arrow onto his bowstring.

"Run, Spock!" Christine pleaded in return, her legs shaking so hard that she wondered how she could still stand.

"Mama!!!" wailed Sapel in a curious echo of the baby creature's caterwauling.

It was too much for the mother rhino to take. Driven to uncontrollable fury by her calf's cries, hurt by the arrow lodged into her shoulder and confused by the two shouting creatures that she could not identify, the cow charged the closest thing she could find.

Spock tried to dive out of the way, but the cow moved with incredible speed for something her size. The thunderous mountain of a beast caught him in the left hip and flung him high into the air, her primary horn goring him deep and snapping the femur with a sickening, audible crack.

Spock shrieked in pain and landed hard about ten feet from the cow. Christine screamed and scrambled to get her own bow in hand before the cow could trample the wounded Vulcan.

Sapel beat her to it. His little bow didn't have much power and he was too far away to do much good, but the arrow he sent thunking into the cow's left foreleg distracted her enough to keep her off his father for a few more seconds. It was enough time for Christine to draw and hit the beast in the left flank.

The maddened cow whirled to that side, snapping at the thing biting her, powerful jaws making quick work of the arrow shaft.

And then all hell really _did_ break loose.

Up out of the grass behind the bawling calf sprang a long, tawny blur of teeth and claws and gold-eyed danger. The rhino calf squealed in sheer terror and bolted as it tried to escape the lion.

In an instant, the mother forgot her puny tormentors and whirled to defend her offspring, launching into the attacking lion with the power of a freight train. The lion snarled and backed off a little but did not give up the pursuit of its prey. The cow got between them and charged, head down and deadly nasal horns brandished, but the lion dodged her and leaped after the calf once more. In a flash, the mother spun and thundered in pursuit.

For a hair-raising moment, Christine watched the combatants, then, when it was clear that their battle was moving rapidly away, she ran as fast as she could to where Spock lay groaning, clutching at his mangled left leg, his hands vivid green from the blood pouring out of the wound. Sapel hurried after her, cradling the terrified Scruff inside his tunic, close to his body.

Christine was shucking her pack even as she fell to her knees beside her husband, her eyes already assessing the damage and her medical training kicking in. "Spock! Oh, God! Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"My leg!" he groaned, his teeth clenched. "Broken..."

"I see that," she answered, quickly but gently examining him. "Fracture of the femur. Deep puncture wound. I've got to get that bleeding stopped."

Swiftly, her mind searched for what she could use as a tourniquet and just as quickly summed up their meager supplies. Then, without a second thought, she shucked her tunic and untied the leather halter she wore underneath, leaving her naked from the waist up. Snatching one of the small arrows from Sapel's quiver, she set to work, in short order fashioning a tourniquet near Spock's hip socket, above the wound, using the arrow as a pressure control through the knot.

"Get my phaser ... out of my pack," Spock directed her breathlessly. "Didn't have time..."

"Sapel, get it," Christine commanded her son as she worked over her husband to stabilize the bleeding.

Rapidly, Sapel complied, pulling the weapon from his father's backpack.

"Okay, keep tight watch," Christine ordered, not taking her attention from her job. "If anything comes close, shoot!"

The boy took up the vigil, his eyes anxiously scanning the grasses and watching the lion and rhino battling.

"Should've had it out ... already," Spock hissed, his face screwed up with pain. "Didn't ... think..."

"Shush," Christine said tightly. "Let's get this pack off you." She maneuvered his arms through the straps and laid him down. "I need to splint this leg with something and get you somewhere safer."

"Use one of the bows," Spock answered, breathing hard. "Then get me ... to the rocks. Blood ... lions will come..."

"I know. We'll have all sorts of predators here soon." Christine retrieved her bow and then hurriedly dug through her own pack, pulling out the blue Romulan gown she had put away so lovingly. "This will do for the moment." Her gaze softened and she stroked her husband's pale face. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. This is going to hurt ... a lot!"

"I know," he panted, eyes shut tight and teeth clenched.

Christine took a deep breath and set to work, straightening Spock's leg and tying Sapel's bow onto it with the blue gown.

During the process, Spock groaned despite himself and broke out in a sweat before she was done. Loosening the tourniquet to allow blood to flow into the leg, then expertly tightening it again, she said, "Okay, can you stand? I can't carry you, honey. You'll have to help me."

"Yes ... give me a moment," he panted and closed his eyes, gathering his strength.

While he did so, Christine slipped her tunic back on but left her pack lying in the grass. "Okay, let's give it a try." She squatted down and helped him to sit, getting her shoulder underneath his right armpit and bolstering his awkward attempt to rise.

It took them several tries before she finally got him up, balanced on his right foot. Even then, he swayed dizzily and turned even paler beneath the wan greenish tint of his skin. After a moment, he swallowed and nodded. "All right."

"Sapel, keep a sharp eye out," Christine admonished her son. "Keep us covered."

"Yes, Mama," the boy answered, the nervousness clear in his voice, but his gaze continually swept over the grassland all around them, the phaser he held ready to fire.

Thus began a long, painful journey to the rocky outcroppings nearby, a walk that should have taken only minutes but turned into a slow, agonizing hour of Christine bodily supporting Spock as he made short, jarring hops along on his good leg.

Each impact jolted through him and he had to stop frequently to gather his control again and again before continuing. It was fully dark by the time they reached shelter and Christine eased her husband down to rest, only the three full moons providing any illumination. Sapel breathed a sigh of relief, then was shocked when his mother ordered, "Stay here and protect Papa. I've got to go back for the packs."

Spock started in alarm. "It is too dangerous. Leave them."

"They have all our supplies," she stated adamantly. "I won't be long." She was gone before he could protest further.

In truth, it wasn't far and she had soon returned with her own pack. From it, she retrieved her own phaser and started back for Spock's pack, disappearing into the darkness.

Tensely, Spock scanned the night for her return but even with the moonlight aiding his night vision, he could not see her. The evening had quieted somewhat, the battle between the lion and rhinos ending as quickly as it had begun. He couldn't tell what the outcome might have been. Significantly, though, he could hear no sounds of feeding or the usual squabbling of predators fighting over a kill. It worried him quite a lot that this sound should be absent from the evening symphony.

With stunning suddenness, the night lit up with the blue lightning of a phaser shot and there was the immediate squall of a wounded lion. Another shot split the darkness, closer this time.

Then Christine was hurrying into their company, dragging Spock's heavy pack in her left hand and holding the phaser ready in her right. Behind her came an angry growl and once more she fired a bolt back the way she had come. The lion trailing her roared in pain and leapt away, the darkness swallowing it.

She stood for a long moment, waiting, but apparently she had scared away the predator. Still, she stuck her phaser into her belt before turning to see how Spock was faring.

"That was very foolish," he chided her weakly. "You could easily have been killed."

"I need some light," she replied, ignoring his comment.

"You need to rest!" he interjected.

Christine sat back on her heels and sighed wearily. "Yes, but I don't have that option right now. I've got to make a fire — quickly!"

She got up and poked around the rock bases, finally coming back with a small stack of dried brush and weeds. These she piled together and once more drew her phaser, setting it on heavy stun setting. The heat from the bolt ignited the tinder and a little blaze leapt into life. Satisfied, she turned to her son.

"Sapel, put Scruff down. She can take care of herself. There's a lot of sticks and stuff lodged up against that rock face. I need for you to collect it and stack it up here so we can keep a fire going. Be careful, though. There may be animals hiding in there."

"I'll be careful, Mama," he answered and set to work.

Scruff followed him, prowling around the brush with interest, her huge black ears pricked and her nose twitching as she caught scents in the tangle of litter. Abruptly, a little gray form exploded from the twigs and the hunting cat reacted with lightning speed, pouncing in a blur of action. There was a tiny squeak and then the half-grown kitten had a limp little body dangling from her jaws, unknowingly making her first kill. Instinct sent her to the edge of the firelight, where she lay down and proceeded to devour the mouse she had caught.

The three people had watched dumbly, then Christine looked down at her husband, her brows lifted delicately. "Well, looks like we won't have to worry about keeping Scruffy fed."

She turned back to examining Spock's leg, plying the tourniquet. The bleeding had slowed but was still seeping out in a steady, dark green trickle. Christine shook her head. "Spock, I don't have anything that will help with this," she told him bleakly. "I'm sorry." In the firelight, her eyes glinted with tears.

Spock barely heard her. Already he was sinking down into a healing trance, his own survival instincts taking over. "No matter..." he breathed. "...so tired ... must rest..." He sighed deeply and his head lolled back. "...heal ... wake ... three days..."

Then he was gone, lost in the coma of _kan'sorn_.

* * *

He was drowning, struggling toward the surface, fighting for air. The current kept trying to pull him back under to its black depths, its inexorable grasp relentless. Spock made a supreme effort and broke through the surface, gulped a chest full of oxygen and rasped out desperately, "Chris!!"

Then he was yanked back down. Another monumental effort, another fast breath and another cry. "Hit me!! Chris!!"

He could scarcely breathe, the pressure around him greater than he could bear. "Chris!!" he pleaded again and panted frantically.

Pain exploded against his left cheek, knocking his head to the side. It wasn't enough. Another blast, this time against his right cheek, flinging his head back the other way. He began to struggle up again. Left, right, left. With each successive blow, the pressure lifted, the smothering darkness cleared.

Abruptly he could see and breathe and, with a reflexive movement, he caught his wife's hand as it descended once more. "No. Enough," he sighed. "Thank you." He let her go.

Christine bent over him, her face covered with anguish, tears in her eyes. "How do you feel?" she asked softly, stroking away the pain she had inflicted on him.

He closed his eyes in weariness. "My leg is still extremely painful," he answered. "I seem to have fever and I feel extremely weak."

She nodded in understanding. "You've been in the healing trance for three days. I set your leg and stitched it as well as I could, but it's extremely swollen and there's some infection. You're very sick, Spock."

He worked his tongue in his dry mouth. "Water," he rasped.

Immediately, she brought the water pouch up and placed the opening against his lips, dribbling water for him to drink.

"Not too much now," she cautioned him. "We don't have much left. There's no water here. I need to go to the river, but I didn't want to leave you alone."

He swallowed and indicated he'd had enough. "We cannot stay here in any case," he said. "I am better now. We can continue south."

"Spock, you can't even walk," Christine retorted, half in exasperation.

"In a day or two, I shall be strong enough. Find me a tree branch sturdy enough to act as a crutch," he responded doggedly. "Our progress will be slow, but it shall be progress. But now ... is there anything to eat? I am quite hungry."

"There's some roast rock hare," she answered. "I'll get it." She got to her feet and started toward the fire, then paused and turned back with a little smile. "Scruffy caught it! Her hunting instincts have really come alive! She's kept herself and us fed with her kills!"

Then Christine had moved away and Spock took the opportunity to close his eyes once more, already exhausted by the brief activity. Still groggy from the _kan'sorn_ , his mind was nevertheless turning to the way ahead, working on the problem of finishing this journey south to Sea Home.

* * *

Step by agonizing step, the miles fell behind them. Sometimes the way went smoothly and they could cover a good bit of distance. At other times, Spock's pain overwhelmed him and they were forced to camp for a week or so before he felt strong enough to continue.

Christine had fashioned a sturdy crutch for him out of a forked three branch and, with its help, he was able to hobble slowly along, resting his weight on its length. However, it was impossible for him to carry his pack, the heaviest of the three, while he did so and Christine couldn't carry it either. Her advancing pregnancy, now beginning its fifth month, precluded heavy loads in any case. But they needed the supplies he bore and could not afford to ditch them.

Thus she had devised a travois of sorts on which she could drag both his and her packs. Sapel still carried his own. Spock had protested vociferously when Christine had cobbled the travois together out of branches and their bison-hide tent, but she had pointed out the logic of such a device and the desperation of their situation. Unwillingly, he had backed down, unable to refute her argument. However, he absolutely forbade her to pull the travois more than five miles a day.

The command was, in any case, soon proved moot. They never made more than three miles on their best days. Spock simply could not travel more than a mile or so before his strength gave out and he was forced to stop and rest.

Their first attempt at travel had taken them to the river and there they had stayed for nearly four days. It was not a good place to stay because of the predators that frequented the waterside, waiting for prey animals. And the river here was populated by large, ferocious reptiles that lurked beneath the surface until something came down to the shoreline to drink.

In addition, the water was muddy and not very potable, but there was nothing else to drink. Sapel cautiously filled a water bag while his mother stood guard over him, phaser drawn and gripped with both hands, her hard blue eyes anxiously scanning all around them, ready to fire at any danger. Once back at their little camp, she let the water settle in one bowl, then carefully poured the clear water off, leaving the sludge in the other. She boiled the clear water to sterilize it, then poured that into a water bag. Then she would start the whole process over again.

Eventually, their water bags were full of usable water. It still tasted pretty muddy and nasty, but beggars couldn't be choosers. The only other choice they had was to drink straight out of the river and none of them relished that option.

When Spock was stronger, they continued to follow the river on its course southeast. They limped along for a month this way, always hoping that they'd reach the woodlands and hills that they must cross before they reached the sea coast and Sea Home. But day after day, the river continued through the grasslands and the hills on the horizon seemed as distant as ever.

Finally, the river took a turn back to the west and Spock called a halt to that day's frustratingly slow travel. When Christine had freed herself from her burden, she came to stand beside her husband, looking up into his worried face.

"Spock? What's wrong? Are you in pain?" she asked.

He shook his head, his forehead still furrowed. "I don't remember the river taking this bend," he said. "I am certain that it maintains a fairly consistent southeast course."

She wiped the sweat from her brow. "Maybe you've just forgotten," she suggested, not sounding very convinced herself. "It's been a while since we were this way."

"Christine, there might be minor variations in a river's course due to floods, but not to this extent." He shook his head and swallowed. "This cannot be our river. It is another one that I did not know existed to the west of ours."

With something like desperation, Spock scanned the nearly featureless horizon, his gaze following the craggy hills on one side and the plains on the other. Then he said something that chilled Christine's soul.

"I do not know where we are, Christine. We are lost!"

* * *

There had been nothing for it but to go on. Following the course of the waterway they had dubbed the West River, the little party slowly and painfully made their way through the uncharted territory. Spock had formulated a mental map and reasoned that this newly discovered stream must eventually flow southward into the sea. If they followed it all the way there, they should be able to turn eastward and continue along the shoreline until they eventually reached Sea Home. How far that would be, he didn't know but in any case they had little choice.

They had trudged along for five days, she pulling their travois and Spock hobbling along on his crutch. Sapel had brought up the rear with Scruffy ranging freely around them. The boy and cat were both hunting as they went and had begun to supply an essential part of their food supply, each day bringing in a hare or fat bird or some other small game. With Spock unable to hunt, it helped substantially.

Tonight it had been a strange little animal that resembled a large lemming or hamster. Scruffy had caught it and brought it proudly to her master. She had received the entrails as her reward. The rest had gone into a stew that Christine liked to call "mish-mosh" because it was generally made of whatever they had or could find.

"We didn't cross a second river on our way to the Ship," Christine pondered that evening by their campfire, finishing off her soup. "We should have since we're on the west bank. How could we miss knowing of another river?"

Spock looked thoughtful, his supper already consumed. Now he reclined with his injured leg at the most comfortable angle he could find. "I have been giving it some consideration. I believe that this river has its source in the many springs that flow out of the hill country behind us. We have crossed numerous dry creek beds along the way and I believe they contribute to the river's flow in the rainy season. However, the springs provide its major headwaters. We traveled to the north of its source when we approached the Ship and thus never encountered it previously."

Christine nodded. "Logical," she acknowledged. "How are you doing? Need to have your bandage changed or anything?"

"I am well," Spock answered. "The fracture appears to be healing slowly although I am still experiencing considerable pain from the puncture wound. There appears to be a low level infection that worries me. We may have to set up a camp someplace soon that will allow me to initiate another healing trance. However, my chief concern is for you! It still disturbs me greatly that you are pulling such a load on a daily basis. You are not resting properly."

"It's really not that heavy," she answered. "Honestly. And I'm not subjecting myself to anything that's straining me! I have no intention of losing this baby!"

That made his expression soften some as he gazed over at her. "Do you feel that all is well? Is the child developing normally?"

Christine smiled lovingly at her husband. "As far as I can tell. I haven't been sick or had any pain. In fact..."

She set down the stone bowl she held and scooted closer to her husband. "Feel here," she directed and took his hand, placing it against her rounded abdomen. The preternatural heat of his palm was wonderful against her skin and she closed her eyes with a contented smile.

Spock let his gaze play over her blissful expression then his attention was jerked back to her body. Something had rippled underneath his hand, a tiny flutter, and he gave a little laugh of joy. "I felt it move," he whispered.

"I know," Christine answered, her blue eyes shining happily. "It's pretty quiet during the day, but starting to get really active at night when I settle down."

They sat engrossed in the private little show for some time longer, directing their focus to their tiny life within the woman.

Sapel came over curiously. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Come here and feel your baby brother or sister move," Christine invited her son.

The boy squatted down and placed his hand where his mother directed him. After a minute, he felt the flutter as well. "That feels weird," he commented, drawing his hand back. "Is it really moving around inside you?"

"It is indeed," she smiled. "It's only about that long—" She measured out about two inches with her thumb and forefinger. "—but already a real baby. It will be growing and growing over the next few months. In just a few months more, there will be four of us."

"I hope it's a boy," Sapel responded, sitting back on his heels.

"Why is that?" Spock asked, curious.

His son shrugged. "I don't know. So we'd have more hunters, I guess."

"Girls can hunt, too," Christine informed him, amused.

"Yeah, I 'spose. Maybe you can have a girl next time. Well, I'm gonna go to bed now. G'night."

"Good night, sweetheart," Christine replied.

"Sleep well, my son," Spock added.

They both watched as the boy went to roll up in his bed furs and turn his back to the fire. After a little while, Christine looked at her husband, her face now serious. "Spock," she said in a low voice, holding his gaze steadily. "What Sapel said about next time... I don't want there to be a next time. No more after this one." She looked into the campfire, its light painting her face in oranges and ambers. "I'm getting too old. I'm 39 now. Or I would be on Earth. I know I still have a lot of child-bearing years ahead of me, but I don't want any more." She looked back up anxiously. "Can you understand that?"

Spock reached out and grasped her hand. " _T'hy'la_ , you do not have to apologize or be afraid that I will be angry! Except for my times of _pon farr_ , it is entirely your decision."

She glanced down again, her voice beginning to tremble a bit. "It's just that ... this is my fourth pregnancy since we've been stranded here and I've lost two of those babies. And ... and I'm afraid I'm going to die giving birth... and it's so hard ... so hard to find food and to protect..." She dissolved into quiet tears. "I'm sorry."

Spock drew her into his arms and held her until his leg ached so that he had to shift a bit. "Here, let me lie down." He settled onto his back and she snuggled into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. Flipping the sleeping fur over them both, he held her close to him, savoring her warmth and softness. "Christine, you are my cherished wife. In Vulcan society, in between Times, the wife dictates how often or even if sexual relations occur. She may opt for frequent relations with her husband or she may decide on complete celibacy. It is her choice entirely. We will abide by your wishes in this matter."

"I don't want celibacy, Spock," she answered softly. "I love making love with you. Having sex with you is too incredible for words!"

"Indeed," he murmured in return, nuzzling against her forehead. "Neither do I wish to cease our physical relations. I find being with you intensely pleasurable and stimulating."

"But we just need to take strict precautions so that I don't become pregnant again after this baby is born," she continued.

"I will make certain that you do not," he assured her.

She raised her head to look at him. "How?"

That made his brows lift. "Um ... I believe the expression is ... 'we will cross that bridge when we come to it'. Now we both should sleep if we intend to travel again tomorrow."

She chuckled and settled back down. "Hmmm... I think in the Middle Ages on Earth they used to make condoms out of sheep skin," she murmured. "Maybe I'll see if I can come up with something here. Have to figure a way to hold it on so that it doesn't come off... Maybe we can keep it on with a tight string around your cock."

She could feel the little start of alarm that went through him and radiated out through their bond. "Perhaps," he replied uncertainly.

Christine laughed again. "Don't worry about it now, hon. It will be a long time before we get to that point. Good night."

"Pleasant dreams, my wife," Spock answered but lay awake for some time thinking. Envisioning sexual intercourse with a sheathing fastened securely around his penis by a tight cord sobered Spock considerably. He had the feeling that just the prospect would dampen his sexual appetite enough to curtail any need for such a thing at all!

* * *

Autumn caught up with them eight days later, sweeping in from the northwest in the form of low gray clouds, borne on a chill wind and dropping a cold, heavy rain. The weather had been almost oppressively humid, although there was a perceptible temperature drop from the weeks before. It was still hot, but not scorchingly so.

The cold front found the travelers working their laborious way through the grasslands that bordered the gradually widening river. They were on the coastal plain now, still many miles from even a glimpse of the sea, but feeling within sight of their destination. Christine was becoming anxious to find a way to cross the river, fearing that they would find themselves in a marsh or tidal area unless they turned eastward before too long.

But there appeared no way to get to the other shore. Too wide and deep to wade or swim, the river was impassable. As each day went by, Christine grew increasingly fearful that they would have to turn back and retrace their steps, a journey that would be as deadly as attempting to get across this stream ... because Spock simply could not survive it.

He had been pushing himself relentlessly, his face grim and taut, jawline set against the increasing pain in his injured leg. He estimated that the sea was only about 25 miles away and he was determined to make it. His leg wound, however, had begun to fester, swollen and filled with pus. The low infection he'd complained of over a week earlier had continued to develop until he hobbled along in a fog of agony each day. After a mile or so, he would be forced to stop and rest and Christine would tend to his injury as best she could. The tiny arsenal of medicines she had gotten from the Romulan ship was long since depleted. She could do little more than clean the green-crusted injury and keep the foul exudate flowing out of the wound site, taking its poison with it.

She had been arguing urgently with her husband for several days as well. "Spock, please! We need to set up a campsite and let you rest! We have _got_ to get this under control!"

"Not yet ... not here..." he answered through clenched teeth against the pain. "Just a little further..."

"Much further will kill you!"

"No," he insisted stubbornly. "I can control the pain." His voice dropped to a whisper and it was almost as if he were speaking to himself. "I am a Vulcan... there is no pain..."

And so they had gone on. But now Spock was nearing the end of his endurance. The flesh around the injury had begun to darken ominously, shot through with livid streaks of green. She was terrified that blood poisoning or even gangrene had begun to set in. Spock was unnaturally pale otherwise, his face drawn into an almost skeletal appearance, his eyes sunken and lifeless.

When she touched his skin, his body temperature nearly scalded her, so high was his fever. And still he refused to stop his dogged forward momentum.

And then the rain caught them, drenching them in minutes with its pelting downpour. Christine saw Sapel stuffing the shivering little hunting cat into his tunic, then she herself pulled her son to her in a futile attempt to shelter him. They hurriedly caught up with Spock, his head bowed and water dripping in a steady stream from the hair hanging across his face.

"We've got to find shelter!" Christine shouted above the drum of rain and grumble of thunder. "Do you see anything ahead?!"

Wearily, Spock lifted his face and peered through the torrent. "There is nothing," he answered in a dull voice. "I see only that stand of trees."

Christine wiped the water from her eyes and squinted. Ahead, like gray giants immobile in the storm, stood a grouping of massive boles, trees such as they had never encountered before. They were of middle height, perhaps 20 feet at the crown, but their trunks were far, far out of proportion to that height. Each one must have easily measured 40 feet in circumference, almost twice as wide as they were high.

"They almost look like African baobabs," Christine commented. "Well, any port in a storm! Maybe they'll offer a little bit of shelter. Better than standing out here anyway!"

She urged her son and husband toward the odd copse, laboriously dragging the saturated travois behind her.

* * *

The canopy of interlacing baobab crowns lessened the rain but did not stop it. In the midst of the giant trees, Christine paused and looked around, wondering what to do next. Spock decided that for her. Standing shakily beside her and clutching his crutch for support, his head bent against the rain, he seemed to crumble before her eyes and fell face first, as if the last of his strength had simply melted away.

"Spock!" Christine threw off the travois harness, dropping to her knees beside him, turning him over onto his back.

He was unconscious, his cheeks flushed a too-verdant hue and his skin unnaturally warm to the touch, despite the rain trickling down his features in rivulets. Frantically, Christine attempted to revive him, but to no avail. Whether he had slipped into _kan'sorn_ or had fallen senseless from fever, she could not tell, but she did know that she had to get him into shelter as soon as possible.

Sapel had hurried to his mother's side when he'd seen his father fall and, as he bent over the still form, Scruffy leaped from the protection of his tunic and scrambled away toward a long, narrow fissure in the trunk of a nearby baobab. The boy made a grab at the hunting cat as she ran for the trunk, then he let her go and turned his attention to his parents.

"We've got to find someplace dry!" Christine exclaimed, her thoughts racing desperately.

Sapel suddenly got up and ran to the gigantic tree where Scruffy had disappeared. Crouching down, he peered into the opening, a rent about four feet high and two feet wide at the base. Then, just as suddenly, he was splashing back to his mother.

"Over here, Mama! Scruffy found us a place!" he cried.

"What?" Christine was confused.

"That big tree. It's hollow inside. I think we can all get inside it."

"At this point, I'm willing to try anything!" she answered. "Help me with Papa."

Together, Christine and Sapel managed to drag the unconscious Vulcan the short distance to the enormous tree trunk, then the boy ducked and slipped easily inside. "There's lots of room in here, Mama," he called.

"All right. Careful now."

It was awkward, but it did not take long to maneuver Spock's limp form through the opening and into shelter. The hollow trunk proved to be surprisingly spacious. It was about eight feet in diameter and reached above their heads about twelve. The darkness inside was tempered by the gray light coming from the "door" as well as a smaller hole in the bark above them, which was situated so that it provided ventilation, but still kept out the rain. Dirt and leaf litter had blown in to form a dry, comfortable flooring and it was this blanket of dry leaves that Christine hurriedly packed around Spock to keep him as warm as possible.

Then she ducked out and retrieved the packs from the travois, stuffing them inside their make-shift shelter. The travois itself, made from the bullhide tent, she propped against the trunk outside the door, forming a sort of awning that kept the rain from blowing inside and blocked the wind. Then she came back to dry off herself and see to her husband.

"Sapel, unroll my sleeping fur. I know it's wet, but it won't be soaked clear through."

The boy did as told and together they pulled the fur over Spock's body, tucking the driest end around his throat. He had begun to shiver and Christine laid her hands against his face, worried at the amount of heat he was generating. "He's burning up with fever," she commented.

Pulling the blanket away from Spock's thigh, she bent to peer at his wound, wrinkling her nose at the putrid smell of necrotic flesh. Even in this light, she could see that the injury had burst open again and pale green pus was flooding out over the blackened skin. Already the stink of gangrene was filling the hollow of the tree trunk and Christine knew now without a doubt that she had only two options ... amputate her husband's leg and risk him dying of blood _loss_ and infection ... or do nothing and allow him to die of blood _poisoning_ and infection.

But whichever she did, Spock would die. She had lost the battle to save him.

The knowledge overwhelmed her with despair and Christine sank down to lie beside him, pulling her husband's gaunt form tightly against her, burying her face in his shoulder and giving in to the tears that hovered silently in the background. After all they'd been through on this world ... the love they had shared and the fights that had nearly torn them apart ... the children they had conceived and those they had buried ... the joyous carefree days when everything went right and the horrible anguish-filled nights when everything went terribly wrong ... After all that, she was actually losing him!

Mingled with the grief came the horrible wrenching fear of helplessness and vulnerability. Christine's mind turned wildly ahead to the future, where the prospect of a life without her beloved Spock loomed like a black cloud. How could she provide for Sapel and herself and the new baby to come? What if something went wrong during the birth and they both died? How would Sapel survive alone? He was just a baby himself!

Panic gripped her and for a moment she hovered on the edge of hysteria, then Sapel's voice brought her back. "Mama?" he ventured, frightened at the sight of his mother clutching his father's limp body and weeping frantically. "Is Papa...?" He couldn't say it. His terrified eyes finished the sentence for him.

"No ... no..." She sat up and held her arms out. Sapel immediately went into her embrace and held his mother tightly, pressing his head against her bosom and allowing her to pull his trembling little body against her.

Christine wiped the tears from her face, getting control of herself once more. "He's still alive, baby," she whispered. _Oh, God, please keep him alive!_ she prayed as she rocked her son gently. _Please, God, I know he doesn't believe in you, but please, please believe in him! Keep him alive, Father, please!!_

Tears of desperation rolled down her face once more and the two of them sat for a very long time, listening to Spock's shallow breathing in the dark, enclosed space. Dimly, Christine was aware that the rain had stopped and only the sound of faintly dripping water broke the quiet afternoon. Unconsciously, she had begun a death watch on Spock, waiting for the end to come.

The light streaming in from the opening high above them dimmed for a second then shone once more. Christine blinked, wondering if a cloud had passed, and was about to dismiss it when a barely audible sound drew her attention upward.

Sitting on a ledge next to the opening was an animal, one of the lemur-like creatures she and Spock had always called "hooters" because of the piercing sound they made at night. This one sat peering intently at the little group, its gigantic golden eyes fixed on the man lying beneath the fur robe, his life ebbing away. The hooter's nose wrinkled at the smell for a moment, then using handholds that Christine couldn't see, it began to climb down toward them.

Scruffy hissed and ducked behind Christine, staring at the creature descending the wall. "Mama?" whispered Sapel, but his mother didn't answer, frozen in place.

The lemur reached the floor and quietly squatted beside Spock, gazing with fixed interest at the Vulcan. For a long moment the creature didn't move and Christine was able to get her first really good look at it. It had moved bipedally for the two or three steps between the wall and Spock's bed, although it didn't look as if this was its constant gait. It had a long prehensile tale that appeared to balance it and both hands and feet sported opposable thumbs, useful for moving about trees. The creature was covered with a dense cream-colored fur, although its face, ears, hands and feet were naked and a dark chocolate brown. Its gigantic golden eyes dominated an attractive primate face.

Abruptly, the lemur reached out and touched Spock's face, laying its hand across his eyes. Christine gave a start, then stopped herself, waiting to see what it would do.

After another minute, the lemur stood and leaped away cleanly to the wall, scrambling with easy speed up its handholds and out the opening. A little dazed, Christine and Sapel released their tension and Scruffy ventured out, her gaze on the opening above.

"Well," said Christine almost rhetorically. "What was _that_ all about?"

Scruffy uttered a scratchy meow that seemed to precisely echo the woman's question, and Christine laughed in spite of herself, fondling the hunting cat's fur.

"What was it doing, Mama?" Sapel asked.

"I don't know. It almost looked like it was evaluating Papa's condition, didn't it?" She shook her head. "It was probably just curious about him, though."

There was a sudden scramble above them and this time Scruffy dived into the safety of Sapel's tunic. "Ow!" he complained. "Watch the claws!" But he was too intrigued by what followed to pay much attention to the cat.

The lemur had returned ... and this time it had brought reinforcements. Following after it was a larger, stockier creature, squeezing through the opening and descending the wall with a little more difficulty and caution. It appeared a good deal older than the lithe one and, once it had reached the floor, Christine could see that the fur on its cheeks grew out and downward in a sort of ruff and that this hair was more gray than cream.

The old one moved with dignity on all fours to sit beside Spock, staring at him for a moment and sniffing cautiously. Then it picked at the fur blanket covering him, gently so as not to tug too hard at this strange creature's pelt. But once the blanket moved and the lemur saw that it was merely a covering, it began to work with more assurance.

Christine was caught somewhere between terror and hope as she watched the little creatures before her. Intrigued, she leaned forward as the old lemur flung the wet, smelly fur away with a decided grimace.

Spock's leg was bared to the pale light and both lemurs drew back from the stench with a sharp click of their tongues. Then the old one reached out to tentatively prod with one finger at the blackened flesh surrounding the draining wound. It chittered softly to itself, then turned to the young one and gave a terse hoot.

The young one sprang up the wall and out immediately, then returned almost before Christine and Sapel could catch their breaths. The old lemur ignored them, but reached a hand into what was obviously a marsupial pouch on the young one's belly, drawing out a fistful of black slimy things. With a quick movement, it plastered the things against Spock's leg and held them there, its hand flat against the necrotic flesh.

Christine couldn't repress a little cry and sprang forward. "What are you doing?!" she demanded in horror.

The young lemur jumped in fright, but the old one held its ground, turning big, pale gold eyes directly on her. "Chk!" it said emphatically.

Sapel fell back with a gasp against the tree wall. "Help!" he exclaimed.

Christine swung on her son, frantically searching for danger. "Sapel! What's wrong!"

The boy shook his head, his long shaggy hair hanging across his brow. "No ... no, Mama. The hooter! It said 'help!'. I understood it!"

Christine whipped back to the old lemur, its grave features still holding steadily on hers. "Intelligent?" she whispered, awed by this discovery. "How..."

The old lemur turned back to its job and pulled the hand away from Spock's leg. The slimy things had attached themselves and were wriggling vigorously, burrowing into the dead skin, already feeding ravenously. The lemur reached once more into the young one's pouch and this time brought out a wad of gray-green matter that looked like a moldy piece of bread.

This went directly onto the oozing wound on Spock's thigh where the rhino had horned him.

Sapel shrank against his mother in horror. " _What_ are they doing?!" he cried.

But Christine was watching with fascination and drew closer. "I think I know," she murmured, almost to herself. "The maggots will clear away the dead tissue. And I'd bet anything that what he just put on Papa's leg is penicillin!"

Cautiously, she moved closer and knelt across from the old lemur, Spock's body between them. Her eyes locked on the hooter's, she laid her hand on her husband's chest and said clearly, "Spock."

The lemur's ears pricked slightly and there was obvious interest in its eyes. It too laid its hand on the Vulcan's chest, but made no sound.

"Spock," Christine repeated, patting the man gently.

"Pck!" said the lemur.

"Yes!" Christine grinned and nodded. "Spock!"

"Pck!"

Then she moved her fingers to her own chest. "Christine," she stated. The lemur cocked its head and stared. "Chris ... tine."

"Crrrr..." the lemur trilled. It was somewhere between a growl and a purr.

"Chris ... tine."

"Crrrr..." It seemed the closest the creature could come to the alien pronunciation.

"Good enough, I suppose," Christine answered. She pointed to the lemur and made a hopeful gesture, signaling that it was the other's turn now.

The big golden eyes had dilated with eagerness. "Charrr-eek!" it said.

"Ch... Chaary," the woman attempted.

"Charrr-eek!"

"Char ... lee," she tried again. "Charlie!"

It was a good compromise. The lemur seemed to accept it. Introductions continued. Sapel became "Ss'lck" and the young lemur, whose name wasn't even remotely pronounceable, was dubbed Picku.

All parties sat back and regarded the others. Now that opening formalities were over, all seemed to be wondering what to do next. Again, Spock made the decision.

With a deep grown, he rolled his head to one side, his brow furrowed in pain and discomfort, and tried to shift his position. He was shivering hard and seemed to be searching for a warmer position. Christine seized his face between her hands and found his skin clammy and chilled. Charlie and Picku were both instantly in attendance as well. Christine started to reach for the damp fur but the lemurs chattered in agitation, obviously not wanting the wet blanket back on their patient.

Sitting back in frustration, Christine turned to her son. "Sapel, you seemed to be able to communicate a little with them. Can you send the impression of 'cold' to them?"

"I'll try, Mama," the boy answered and closed his eyes, stretching out with his rudimentary telepathic abilities. He projected intense cold and then pleasant warmth underneath the furs. For good measure, he sent a picture of his father sick and miserable, then feeling better after being covered.

The lemurs seemed to consult one another, then abruptly Picku sprang away once more and disappeared out of the roof opening. Within a few minutes, she was back and she brought with her a dozen more of the lithe, creamy animals. The newcomers inched their way down the wall, obviously afraid of the aliens in their midst, but Charlie hooted and chittered rapidly and with authority. All moved rapidly to obey him.

Moving gently, the entire entourage spread themselves over Spock's long, shivering body, covering all of him except his face, their soft fur and warmth almost immediately enveloping the sick man in a blessed heat that soothed his rigors and comforted his suffering. With a sigh he sank back down into unconsciousness, returning to the deep sleep he so desperately needed. But Christine noted that his breathing already seemed easier and she exchanged a grateful, hope-filled glance with the old lemur healer.

* * *

Spock groaned and slowly opened his eyes, working his tongue about a sticky, dry mouth that tasted like dirty socks. Confused, he tried to place where he was, but did not recognize his surroundings. His eyes still grainy from too much sleep, he raised a hand to clear his vision and that action brought a familiar, loving face into view overhead.

"Spock!" Christine exclaimed, smiling radiantly. "How are you feeling?"

"Groggy," he answered. "Water?"

"Of course." She turned away for a moment, then was back, slipping a hand beneath his head and lifting him gently as she brought a cup to his lips. "Slowly now, sweetheart. Don't take it too fast." She fed him small sips until he indicated he'd had enough, then she laid his head back onto the fur pillow that had cradled him.

"Where are we?" he asked in a still weak voice.

"Inside one of the baobabs," Christine answered, her eyes shining. "You fainted just as we reached them and Sapel and I got you inside out of the rain. You've been asleep for three days."

"Where is Sapel?" Spock asked, looking around their sparse shelter.

"He's outside with... he's outside." Christine had caught herself abruptly, deciding that it was best to gradually break the news of their unexpected friends. "How does your leg feel?"

Spock turned his attention to his injury and was surprised. "It feels much better. I just needed a period of rest to allow the infection to pass."

Christine's expression registered extreme discomfort and she looked away for a moment. "No, Spock." Suddenly serious, she gazed back at him, her deep blue eyes holding his dark brown ones. "Honey, you were in really bad shape when we got here. Much worse than I think you know."

Spock lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. "Indeed?" he murmured.

She nodded, tears coming to her eyes. "You were dying," she whispered, stroking her fingers softly along his gaunt cheek. "Gangrene had set in. There was nothing more I could do."

His other brow rose as he peered at her. "Yet I am alive," he pointed out.

Nodding, she rested her palm against his forehead. "Yes. Because help suddenly appeared out of nowhere."

Spock's expression became more perplexed. "What...?"

Christine couldn't help but laugh a little through her tears. "Because you've been under expert medical care ... by a very skilled doctor."

"Rescue—?" It didn't make any sense to him and his expression showed it.

"No. Not Starfleet. Someone else." Christine laughed again. "We aren't just in a hollow tree here, Spock. We're in a home. We inadvertently broke into someone's house!"

Spock glowered at her in exasperation, some of his old energy beginning to make a reappearance. "Christine, you are being deliberately obtuse! Please tell me plainly what you are attempting to say!"

That broke her into a heart-felt peal of laughter and she bent to embrace him, kissing him again and again as she cried. After a few minutes, she straightened and wiped her tears of joy away. "Spock, we found people. Not people like us, but people nevertheless. You know the little creatures we've always called 'hooters'? Well, they or a very near species live here in this forest. It's a regular city, Spock! There must be over a thousand of them living here in these baobab trees."

The news stunned him silent, laying him back flat as he assimilated the information. "Indeed?" he whispered at last. "Fascinating!"

"Yes, they are. I've been studying them a little. I don't think they're exactly the same as the hooters we have up north. These are bigger and obviously more intelligent," she told him. "I think it's like the difference between chimpanzees and Humans. Genetically, they're almost identical, but not quite. These are sentient beings. They've evolved into people."

He tried to get up, his eagerness now sending adrenalin through his body. "Absolutely fascinating!" he repeated. "I would like to meet these ... people."

Immediately, Christine had both hands on his chest, pushing him back down. "Whoa, buddy boy! You stay right in that bed! You're better, but you're a long way from well!"

Spock was surprised to find that he didn't have the strength to resist her and allowed himself to be pushed back into a supine position. In fact, he discovered that his whole body felt incredibly weak and the little effort had exhausted him. "Perhaps you are correct," he conceded.

"Spock, my love, you are barely a step away from an open grave," Christine informed him. "You are still incredibly sick and you're going to take a long time to heal. You are confined to bed here until Dr. Christine and Dr. Charlie both agree that you can get up."

"Dr. Charlie?"

"Your physician. You'll meet him later," she answered. "That's not really his name, but it's as close as I can get to it. He'll be coming a little later to change your dressing and check the wound. Now, how about something to eat?"

Spock considered it and found that he was absolutely starved. "I would like that very much," he replied gratefully.

"Okay. I have some broth on out by the fire. I'll be right back with some soup and some bread." She abruptly bent over and kissed him soundly on the lips. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you!" she whispered fiercely when she broke the kiss. Once more tears were shining in her eyes, but she was smiling tremulously and ducked out quickly before she could lose control again.

Spock was glad that she had left him for a few minutes. It gave him the time he needed to wipe his own eyes once more before she returned.

* * *

Spock turned his face to the sun and savored its warmth on his skin. It felt good to be outside at last, enjoying the bright autumn sunshine and fresh air. It had been two weeks since he'd awakened from his brush with death and his recovery was advancing every day. Still unable to put his weight on his leg, he could nevertheless manage to get up and use his crutch once more, although his strength was slow in returning. He could make short trips now for hygiene purposes and he had seen a very, very small part of the city of trees, but for the most part his movements were limited to the immediate vicinity of the baobab house they currently called home.

Christine had settled him today outside their doorway, propped up against the bole of the tree with their furs rolled up as cushions at his back. She was curled up beside him, simply wanting to be near him, as if, in her absence, he might fall back into the coma that had nearly taken him from her. He understood exactly what she was feeling, as much through their Bond as in his own heart. Looking over at her now, he smiled and sent a pulse of love across the mindlink they shared, cascading it down through her whole body and soul.

Christine gasped softly and then leaned toward him, kissing him long and fully. When she drew back, she whispered, "I love you so much, Spock. I don't know how I would have gone on if I'd lost you."

"But you _would_ have gone on," he answered. "I've never known you to let anything defeat you."

" _That_ would have," she murmured back. She brought their mouths together once more, slipping her tongue lightly between his lips and adding just a hint of passion to the kiss.

When they parted, he nuzzled his forehead against hers in a further gesture of affection. "Soon, my beloved, I hope. I don't have the physical strength yet, but soon..."

They were interrupted by the arrival, at full speed, of their son, racing through the carpet of yellow leaves that covered the ground. Sapel was followed in close order by Scruffy and then Picku, galloping on all fours for speed. Once at the tree, however, she slowed and rose upright, hopping along nimbly in a sort of half-jump, half-walk gait, her long tail acting like a rudder for balance.

Sapel, laughing and red in the face, sprinted around to the back of the enormous tree, Picku right behind him. Scruffy did a wild, scrambling leap, secured herself to the tree with extended claws, and was ten feet up before she abruptly stopped and seemed to realize where she was. With a piteous mew, the hunting cat began edging back down, then finally pushed off and dropped the rest of the way to the ground. There she recovered her dignity as only a cat could do and strolled away with an attitude that plainly said, "I meant to do that."

Christine burst into laughter and even Spock found he could not suppress a smile. The cat suddenly tensed and looked around, then shot off once more, just as Sapel and Picku rolled into view, locked in each other's embrace, wrestling merrily. The lemur's tail was locked around one of the boy's wrists and finally he broke away, exclaiming, "No fair! It's like you've got five hands!"

Picku sat back on her haunches and groomed her belly fur unconcernedly. After a moment, she peered intensely at her playmate and Sapel grinned. "Okay, let's go!" Obviously some form of telepathic message had passed between the two and they sprinted off again, Picku back on all feet and Scruffy valiantly bringing up the rear.

Christine shook her head, chuckling. "I can't tell if those two have become best friends or if they each regard the other as a pet."

"Probably it is a bit of both," Spock answered.

"Yes." Christine sighed happily and leaned her head over to rest on her husband's shoulder. "God, I love it here. How is it that we've lived here for seven years and never knew this existed?"

"We simply were never in the right place," Spock answered. "It is likely that their population is rather small overall. What is it again that you've named this place?"

Christine looked a bit embarrassed. "Lemuria. You know ... lemurs ... Lemuria. There is an old Earth legend of a lost land called that. I thought it was appropriate here."

Spock nodded, eyebrow raised slightly. "Yes. Although what I believe I have heard them call themselves is nothing like that."

"No, but I don't speak their language. Anyway, what they call us isn't Human, either."

"No ... it translates more to 'big naked ground walker'," Spock replied, amused.

Christine nodded and sat quietly, enjoying the autumn afternoon. Overhead the baobabs sent down a silent rain of slim yellow leaves that fluttered groundward like so many butterflies. And there were butterflies here, too, large red and blue ones in amazing numbers. They added their own flash of color to the golden foliage, sometimes congregating together into a tapestry of living art.

"They remind me of monarchs," Christine commented. Spock looked at her curiously. "Monarch butterflies," the woman elaborated. "When I was a girl at home, every fall thousands and thousands of monarch butterflies would migrate through our area on their way to Mexico for the winter. Sometimes the trees would be completely orange with them. It was unbelievable."

"We do not have butterflies on Vulcan," he answered reflectively. "Nothing that would compare with this. I believe it is our loss."

Again Christine sat silent and Spock became aware of the sadness welling up within her. She knew that he felt it and did not try to hide it from him. "Do you think we'll ever get home, Spock?" she asked.

He slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. "I don't know, beloved," he answered honestly. "I know that you have never completely given up hope. Perhaps, deep down, neither have I. It is only natural. But, I do not believe that they are still looking for us. On Earth, it has been..." He paused to calculate mentally. "...eight years and two months since we disappeared. I believe that we must have been declared dead long ago. Our life is here now. With each other. With our children."

He gently placed his other hand atop her rounded belly, now very obvious in its swelling of new life. Christine laid her hands atop his and snuggled her head underneath his chin. "I know," she answered, a muffled sob in her voice. "I'm sorry, Spock. I didn't mean to get so maudlin."

He pulled his hand free and tilted her face up to his. "Nostalgia and the desire to be home is not maudlin," he responded firmly, but with a smile. "Particularly for a woman mid-way through pregnancy." He kissed her lightly. "And we must indeed go home, Christine. As soon as I am able to travel. We cannot stay here for the winter."

"I know," she sighed. "We've got to get to Sea Home and lay supplies in. We have lots and lots to do!"

"Indeed." Spock settled back once more against the tree trunk and pulled his wife comfortably into his embrace. "We are woefully behind on our preparations. We must attempt to leave here within the next two weeks or I fear we will never have enough time to reach the cabin before winter arrives."

* * *

Spock sat quietly in the shade of the huge tree, his leg bared and outstretched as Dr. Charlie examined the healed wound with long, spindly fingers. The area was still tender to the touch, but the skin had closed well over it and there was no longer any sign of infection. Only healthy green flesh, something that fascinated the lemur no end, was visible now, a sunken spot in the muscle showing where the puncture had been.

Spock had long since grown used to the alien healer and had been astonished to find that the two of them could communicate mentally either when touching the other or occasionally with a thought directed straight at the Vulcan by the old lemur. A rapport had built up between them over the past month and they had spent long hours "talking". It was not a language of words, but of impressions, visions, intent and emotions. As the two became more comfortable with one another, they had attempted more complex topics.

Picku, it was learned, was in fact Charlie's daughter ... or one of them. He was the patriarch of an extended family troop and the baobab the travelers had first entered was one of his home trees. Their troop was part of a super-troop that consisted of about a dozen other families and made up the population of this tree city. The Lemurians called themselves something that sounded like "Ch'k P'p Whoooo", which translated more or less into "Us". There was another super-troop several miles away with a moniker that was nearly identical but whom Charlie's thoughts conveyed as "Them". Beyond that, the politics of the Lemurians were too complex to understand at this point.

But on a one-to-one basis, the two highly dissimilar males got along well. Today, the healer sat back on his haunches and the nictitating membranes of his eyes edged just a bit up from his lower lids, an expression that meant pleasure. He kept his hand on Spock's arm to facilitate talk.

// _Leg most well now_ ,// Charlie's mental impressions informed Spock. // _Tie tight one moon sweep. Then healed_.//

// _Gratitude, friend_ ,// Spock sent back to him and secured his leggings back into place, tying the rawhide belt loopings.

After his clothing was back on, the Vulcan turned to more serious matters, things he had been planning on discussing with his host. // _Autumn full now_ ,// he projected. // _Winter soon. We_ —// His thoughts encompassed himself, Christine, Sapel and Scruffy. //— _go home now. Leave morning sun up_.//

Charlie peered closely at the man, the membranes now tucked away from his eye surfaces. // _Where home?_ // he asked puzzled.

Spock didn't know what to call it and so conjured up a mental picture of Sea Home and the sea coast that stretched to either side of it. The house itself was perched on a high hillside within easy walking distance of the beach, but well out of the tide zone and protected against the hillside. He showed Charlie the features of the land there, including the headland that butted out into the sea just to the south of them, cutting the beach off abruptly and preventing their exploring previously in that direction.

At the thought of the headland, Charlie's mind lit up with great pleasure. He sent back a picture of this same distinctly shaped cliff, only from the other side. // _Known! Day journey water,_ // he informed Spock.

The mental images Spock was getting puzzled him as well. // _Water travel? No ... no way water. Walk there._ // He sent visions of him and his family trudging through grasslands. _//Leg strong. Heal good. Leave morning_.//

Charlie was again adamant. // _Leg no strong_ ,// he argued. // _Fall down quick. Leave morning but no walk. You see morning_.// With that the session seemed to be over, for Charlie withdrew his fingers and quickly marched away on all fours before bounding up a tree trunk and quickly disappearing into the foliage overhead.

* * *

Most of the village turned out to see them off the next morning, an entourage that comprised around five hundred Lemurians — males, females and children — all chattering and hooting amongst themselves. After a month, the village was well acquainted with their strange visitors and all knew by now that the big bipeds would be leaving on this morning. None wanted to miss this momentous occasion.

Spock was still skeptical about Charlie's assertions that the journey to Sea Home would be accomplished by water, but when he attempted to question the healer again as they readied their packs, the old lemur would only reply, // _You wait. See soon_.//

And so Spock, Christine and Sapel had set out with Scruffy tagging along behind until the lemur crowd had forced her to take refuge in Sapel's tunic. Charlie and Picku walked beside them, the elder on all fours and Picku skipping along upright.

The pathway they took led down to the river about a mile away and there they found an astonishing sight. On the river itself and pulled onto the low sandy bank were an assortment of little boats, woven tightly from the water reeds that grew in massive stands along the marshes from here to the coast. Sturdy, pliable and water resistant, they made outstanding canoes. Most of the crafts were tiny tub-shaped vessels, suitable for only one person, but about half a dozen others were longer and wider, and it was these that were drawn up on shore.

The fisher folk turned out to be robust Lemurians who poled their little boats out into the current and cast their nets over the side. Spock had been interested to learn that, although the Lemurians did not hunt or trap for meat and were primarily vegetarians, they did enjoy fish and shellfish. He simply hadn't realized what accomplished fishermen they were or that they were intelligent or dexterous enough to weave boats out of water reeds.

Now Charlie marched down to the water's edge and was met by a muscular male with almost caramel colored fur. They talked for a moment then Charlie came back to Spock and laid a hand on the Vulcan's arm.

// _This P'Leek_ ,// he said. // _Boatman. He take you—// He indicated them all. //—to home by sea._ //

Spock acknowledged P'Leek with a polite nod, but still could not see how the fisher intended to do it. // _We not fit in boat_ ,// Spock stated to Charlie. // _Concern. Too heavy. Sink_.//

// _For all in one, not each. You go with P'Leek. Crrrr go this boat. Boy, cat that one_.// Serene unconcern radiated through Charlie's mental communication. // _Boats good. Reach home safe_.//

Spock had never felt very comfortable on the water, but had learned to accept the necessity of it. Now he bowed to the inevitability of their situation and explained the plans to Christine. She too had reservations and looked dubious that they could possibly complete their trip in the small water craft. Nevertheless, refusing now would highly insult their new friends and they had been so generous and kind, Christine could not force herself to refuse their enthusiastic intentions.

Without further ado, the boarding got underway. P'Leek pushed his long boat a little farther into the water and scrambled aboard, holding it in place with his long punting pole. With a final hesitant sigh, Spock waded out and cautiously stepped into the craft, alarmed by the way it sank down under his weight. Nevertheless, as soon as he settled into the middle section, the reed boat balanced and rode evenly in the water.

Christine got into the next boat and Sapel eagerly climbed into the third, Scruffy cowering inside his shirt. The packs were loaded into a fourth, then the crews, two per boat, hopped nimbly aboard. Last of all, Charlie got in with Christine, settling beside her, and Picku joined Sapel. Then the fishermen plied their poles with surprising strength and pushed the boats out into the main stream.

On the bank, the rest of the Lemurians hooted wildly and waved their arms in farewell. Then the little fleet was on the way.

With an ease born of familiarity, the fisher folk sailed the widening river, steering their crafts with the long punting poles, one sailor standing in the bow and the other astern. The river channel wound its way through wide marshes and swamps, but there was now a tang of salt in the air and Spock knew that they were near the sea. How these lightweight boats could possibly withstand the wave action on the beach front, he could not imagine, but P'Leek was guiding them confidently onward.

By midday the crashing of the surf on sand could be clearly heard. The waves sounded rough today and Spock began to worry, envisioning them all being smashed as soon as they ventured out of the safety of the river mouth.

He needn't have concerned himself, however, for the Lemurians knew the area well. The river delta opened up into a long stretch of calm, sheltered water, a coastal lagoon that rested behind thin barrier islands. It was these exposed beaches that were taking the punishment of the surf.

The boats turned north along the coast, gliding swiftly through the seemingly endless stretch of protected water. On their right, the sandy strips of barrier beach buffered the waves; on their left was mile after monotonous mile of marsh.

Spock could see now why Charlie had insisted they travel home in this manner. The journey on foot would have taken two to three weeks, forcing them to skirt the marsh country, providing they could find a way across the river at all. At this rate, they would be home by sunset.

And so they were.

Late in the day, the barrier islands came to an end, but ahead rose the headland that stretched out into the Southern Sea like the prow of a ship. Here the waves did crash dangerously and the four little boats pulled up on shore in the last protected cove and unloaded passengers and cargo. Spock, Christine and Sapel would walk from here, up over the hills and then down to Sea Home, a distance of about two miles.

P'Leek and his fishermen settled for a well-earned rest and meal. They would stay with the boats, but Charlie and Picku would accompany the travelers home. Picku's belly pouch bulged with things she had brought and Charlie, though as a male he possessed no marsupial pouch, nevertheless sported a woven bag with a strap over his head and across his torso. It too looked full.

After a stretch and profusely thanking the boatmen, the Vulcans and Human donned their packs and prepared to set out on foot for the first time since Spock's injury a month prior. It felt both strange and good to shrug their backpacks into place on their shoulders and start off again. There was a sense of freedom that was almost palpable.

Sapel put Scruffy down and the hunting cat scampered away ahead of them, glad to be on solid ground again and intrigued by all the scents that wafted past her sensitive nose. The little company made their way up the hill and over the cliff of the headland. On the way down the other side, things suddenly began to look familiar.

Beyond the headland, their home beach curved away to the north and east, the mouth of their well-known river opening into the sea a mile away. This was the waterway that ran past their valley home far to the north and which they had followed more than once. The sight of its waters felt friendly and welcoming.

The wooded hillside rose up from the beach, its mixture of evergreen and deciduous trees painting a palette of greens, rusts and golds in the fading daylight. And then the trail opened into a clearing, revealing a rocky hillside and a squat, low log cabin crouching at its base.

With a whoop of joy, Sapel ran the rest of the way, Picku leaping along beside him. He was the first to reach the front door.

They were home.

* * *

The hike and the final climb had tired both Spock and Christine. His leg, still strapped to provide support, was beginning to ache with the strain placed on it, and Christine's pregnancy was advanced enough to prove a burden to her. Both of them were relieved when the cabin came in sight, illuminated as the last rays of the setting sun speared through the trees, casting alternating beams of light and dark upon their home.

Charlie and Picku were both glad that the trek was over as well. Neither was accustomed to such long trips and on the ground at that. Travel was nearly always confined to treetops where they could swing along as fast as their long arms, legs and tails could move them. Charlie especially was glad of the chance to sit back on his haunches and rest, although his daughter seemed as full of energy as ever. Watching her scamper with the biped child, he marveled at the enduring vigor of the young.

Christine gave a deep sigh as she doffed her pack and watched Spock drop his as well, shifting his weight to ease the load on his barely mended leg. Walking over to him, she put her arms around his neck and drew him down into a heartfelt and loving kiss. "Oh, it feels so good to be home," she smiled when they drew apart.

He smiled through the weariness covering his face. "Indeed, my wife," he murmured to her. "This journey has been longer and more traumatic than I envisioned when we began it. I look forward to a quiet winter with no more adventures for quite some time!"

Christine laughed softly and pulled away from him. "Wonder what condition the house is in," she replied.

"We shall soon see," Spock answered.

The door had been barred shut when they had left it so long before. They had not anticipated any sentient invaders, but didn't want the local wildlife to take up residence in their absence. Still, it would have been unreasonable to expect the log cabin to be precisely as it was when they last closed the door. Now, as Spock hefted and removed the huge log that served as a barricade, Christine found herself anxious to see the state of her house.

His muscles bulging visibly, Spock threw all of his considerable strength into the barrier and shifted it away from the doorway, enough so that he could drop it to the side. It hit with a deep thud and Spock paused to catch his breath, acutely aware that he was not yet fully recovered from his ordeal of the last month. Before, he would have been able to move the log easily. Now he found himself winded.

With sympathy, Christine patted him on the arm and then she tugged the door open. Inside, there was the sound of scurrying as multiple small lifeforms sought shelter, then silence. But the stale air that poured out from the cabin was redolent with the smell of old dung and urine, mold and mustiness, and rotted food.

Christine fell back, batting at the air before her face, and Sapel slapped both hands over his nose, wailing, "Mama! Shew! It stinks in there!"

"Lord almighty!" his mother responded. "I never thought it would be this bad!"

Spock and the two lemurs had retreated a prudent distance and Spock answered with amusement. "It seems that our house has been home to quite a few guests while we were gone. I believe an eviction and then a thorough cleaning is in order before we can move in."

Christine had joined him, still trying to clear the malodorous scent from her nasal passages. "I agree one hundred percent! Well, we can't sleep inside tonight. Shall we pitch the tent?"

Spock looked down at her and there was a definite hint of mischief in his dark eyes. "I have a better idea," he answered.

"I think a short walk and a hot bath are in order for all three of us. What do you say that we set up camp beside the hot spring?"

Christine's face shone with happy radiance. "I say that's the best idea you've had in a long time! Let's go!"

* * *

The walk to the hot spring didn't take long and soon the weary group came into the clearing that fronted an outcropping of rock, from which flowed steaming runnels that trickled down the rock face and formed a shallow pool at its base. This was fifteen to twenty feet across and about five feet at its greatest depth. In turn the water spilled over the edge opposite the tiny waterfall that fed it and the water ran away downhill to eventually make its way all the way to the ocean. Near the rock face, the water was almost unbearably hot, but it cooled to the temperature of a very warm bath farther away. On the cooling evening breeze, steam rose in a gentle cloud above the pool, warming the air above the pond.

"Oh, lord, but I've missed this!" Christine proclaimed as the heated mist enveloped her. "I'm going to soak and soak for days!"

"You would end up entirely too wrinkly," Spock replied in a droll voice. "You always say that you look like a prune if you stay in the water too long."

She hit him lightly on the arm, then laughed, in too good a humor to mind his gentle teasing.

The fading daylight was dim here, although the three moons were nearly full and rising in the east. Still, here underneath the trees, it would soon be dark and Spock set his son to the task of gathering firewood while he and Christine got the tent up.

Charlie sat and watched them curiously, Picku tagging along with Sapel.

It didn't take long to pitch camp. They were too practiced at it and Sapel was quick to return with an armload of deadwood. Within half an hour, they had a fire going and could finally settle in to relax and find something to eat in their packs.

Spock laid his fingers on Charlie's arm and directed a mental question at the lemur. // _Stay here? Sleep here?_ // he asked.

Charlie indicated a negative response. // _Picku'acka'neech, me go back boats_ ,// he thought in return . // _Leave first sun tomorrow_.//

// _Regret, friend_ ,// Spock replied. // _Grateful for all_.//

// _Have things for you before we go_ ,// Charlie stated and broke the mental contact for a moment, long enough to relieve himself of the pouch hanging from one shoulder. He got up and laboriously walked bipedally to Christine, then dropped back to his haunches. Reaching out, he touched her arm and thought, // _This for you. Help heal_.//

For a moment, Christine was puzzled. Help her heal? But she wasn't injured or sick... then she understood as she opened the pouch. It was filled with dried herbs and other plants. Of course! Charlie comprehended that she too was a healer and he was sharing his pharmacopeia with her.

She gripped his arm. // _Most grateful! Great friend Charlie!_ //

Picku squatted before Spock and Christine and reached both hands into her belly pouch. From the deep flap of skin, she brought out packets wrapped in large green leaves and presented them. // _Food for three days_ ,// Charlie explained to Christine.

// _You need eat good, Crrrr_...// He moved his dark skinned hand to her swollen abdomen. // _Baby grow fast, you eat good_.//

Christine couldn't help beaming at her benefactor. // _Grateful, you care about me, baby_ ,// she stated to him. // _Baby likely die without care by you in trouble time_.//

The Lemurian almost seemed to be blushing a little, although his countenance never changed, with the exception of his nictitating membranes sliding partway across his eyes for a moment. Then he made to pull away. // _Go now_.// He laid his free hand on Spock's arm, turning his great golden eyes on the Vulcan. // _Friend Spock. Happy_.//

// _Happiness you, too, friend Charlie_ ,// Spock answered.

Charlie withdrew his touch and, without further ado, leaped up the nearest tree and disappeared into the foliage. Picku lingered a few seconds longer, touching Spock and Christine in turn, then turning to Sapel and abruptly pressing her long, agile fingers over his face. The boy gasped involuntarily, but before he could recover, Picku was gone as well, following her father up into the trees.

Sapel stared after her, still looking dazed, and Christine reached over to him. "Sapel? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mama," he answered, his dark eyes wide as he tried to spot the Lemurians above them. It was no use. If they were still there, they were both completely camouflaged by the fading daylight.

"What did she do? Did she hurt you?" Christine pressed.

Sapel didn't answer for a second, then looked back at his mother and shrugged. "No, she just surprised me, that's all. She was just saying goodbye."

Christine looked a tiny bit skeptical, but let it go. "Let's see what they left us to eat." She unwrapped one of the leaf packets and revealed several small, dried fish. Other packets contained similarly dried foods such as fruits that resembled apricots, or roughly grated tubers, still moist and sweet, salted shellfish, and succulent stems of water reeds.

"Why, how sweet of them!" the woman exclaimed. "We can really make a couple of meals with this. I don't think it will last three days, but it will sure get us settled in."

"Indeed," Spock answered, checking over the donated food. "Tomorrow I will either hunt or fish so that we will have fresh meat. And once we get the cabin habitable again, I will begin to hunt in earnest. We have little time to begin preparing for winter. We have lost nearly two months in our journey here."

"I know. I'm not looking forward to tackling that mess!" Christine sighed and began laying out their meal between them, allowing the big leaves to act as serving platters. "Well, meanwhile, dig in! And after supper, you, young man, are going to have a bath! You reek to high heaven!"

"So do you and Papa," Sapel answered, helping himself to the food. He dipped up a dollop of the tubers with his fingers and conveyed them to his mouth.

Christine glanced at her husband. "I know. We need a bath, too. We'll bathe after you are in bed. I have a feeling it's going to take some time to scrub the grime off our bodies!"

Spock returned her gaze with a quizzical twitch of his eyebrow. He didn't answer her verbally, but there was definitely a little twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he settled in to his evening meal.

* * *

Christine lay back in the simmering water and closed her eyes, simply letting the heat seep into her bones and relax her muscles. It had been so long since she'd had a long, hot bath that she could barely remember the sensation.

She heard Spock come out of the tent and walk down the gentle slope toward her. Seeing Christine glance up at him, he informed her in a soft voice, "He's asleep. It didn't take him long. He was truly exhausted." Even as he spoke, he began stripping off his clothing, dropping them near the low-burning fire where her own garments lay.

Christine smiled sensuously as she watched him. The unspoken intent between them grew as he shed his shirt, moccasins and pants, then finally removed his loincloth, leaving him naked before her. "Mmmm," she murmured. "Now that's a nice picture. Come on in. The water's fine!"

"In a moment," he answered. "I shall be right back."

He walked away into the trees, but only so far as to give himself some privacy. Even so, the moonlight filtering through the branches illuminated his body faintly and Christine was able to make out his form. What she saw heightened the excitement that was building throughout her.

He halted with his back to her some distance away and assumed a stance that was purely male. Head down slightly, his long black hair cascading over his shoulders, his right hand moved out of sight in front of his body, his left hand parked casually on one hip, his feet braced apart. Even in the moonlight, she could see the easy masculine grace in his form, his broad shoulders and muscled upper back tapering down to slim waist and tight buttocks, then on to long, firm legs. He was oblivious to her scrutiny and that's exactly how she wanted it.

There was silence for a few seconds then she could hear the pattering of liquid hitting the leaf covering on the forest floor, and that caused a surge of arousal to pulse completely through her once again. She could feel her nipples becoming taut and felt a tightness between her legs as she visualized in her mind what she could not see with her eyes.

It only took him a minute to complete his task, then he finished with the universally male gesture of a little shake of his penis, then straightened and turned back to return to the hot pool. Striding casually toward her in the moonlight, his naked body softly illuminated by the moonlight, Christine couldn't help catching her breath. He was absolutely ethereal, like a marble statue come to life, even with his thigh still splinted and a limp to his walk. And she was unable to stop her gaze from sliding down his chest and stomach to the magnificent symbol of his manhood that jutted from the thatch of black hair at the juncture of his thighs.

He was already on his way to an erection, just enough to cause his penis to firm and lengthen, a promise of things to come. As he stepped down into the water, her eyes remained riveted to his developing erection and her excitement transmitted itself through their bond, sweeping over him. His body responded with a definitive pulse of interest, jerking slightly upward as blood pumped into it. Both of them paused and watched the organ's dance, then Christine laughed and reached out to caress the hardening shaft. "Mmmm ... I'd say he's eager for some fun tonight."

"As am I," Spock answered, his deep voice lowering further into the rough whisper that sent chills down her spine. Christine nearly shivered despite the hot water and her eyes said all that was necessary for her to answer.

Spock stepped down all the way into the pool and drew his wife against him, slipping his arms around her shoulders as he leaned down to find her lips with his. She lifted her arms around his neck and answered the kiss fully, eagerly receiving his tongue when it probed against her own. Both kiss and arousal deepened as they pressed against one another in the chest deep water, the heat of the bath adding to their own. Her protruding stomach prevented him from grinding his pelvis into hers, but nevertheless, his now fully erect rod found its way to her furry mound and then to the inviting cleft beneath. Dipping his hips slightly, he managed to push the head between her nether lips and just bump against her clitoris.

Christine groaned into his mouth and shoved her pelvis forward, increasing the contact between them. But then he broke their kiss and pulled away slightly with a soft, low chuckle. "Not yet, beloved," he whispered. "First things first. We are here to bathe and wash away the grime of our journey. The rest will follow naturally."

"You are a fiend," she informed him, giving her pelvis one more little thrust against his hardness. "A teasing, sadistic fiend. I don't know why I don't dump you and find someone who will be good to me."

His brows went up in a wry, good-natured expression. "Because there _is_ no one else, my beloved wife," he answered. "Unless you have the idea of becoming one of Charlie's harem females."

Christine let her eyes narrow and her mouth pull a little to one side. "Hmm, there's a thought. Of course, I'd have to learn to live in a tree..." She shoved at Spock's chest and he released her. "You're right. First things first. I'll scrub your back if you'll scrub mine..."

"With pleasure," he responded.

For the next half hour, they washed themselves and each other, their bathing half practicality and half sexual play. The water and constant tactile sensation revived both of them, intensifying the sensuality of their touch as the night wore on. Finally, Spock unbraided Christine's waist-length hair and lovingly washed it, his strong supple fingers massaging her scalp and sending her into near ecstasy.

She stood with her back to him, her hands braced on the pool's stony rim, the water here hip deep and lapping at her barely submerged hips and genitals like a lover's tongue. The constant heated caress and the motion of Spock's fingers buried in her hair was more than Christine could stand. With a groan, she thrust her buttocks backwards a bit and spread her legs farther apart.

The invitation was unmistakable and Spock could not resist the blatantly sexual message she was sending. He was fully erect by now and Christine's proximity, combined with the tease of the water against his sensitized organ, had served to bring him to the edge of control. Now, seeing her change in stance drove him to action.

He moved forward to meet her, sinking the head of his pulsing shaft into the luscious rosy valley of her sex. Immediately her sweet oil gushed to enclose him, coating him with slickness, and his maleness answered it with a pulse of its own lubrication. Spock tightened his grip on her hair almost involuntarily and pushed forward once more with his hips, probing for her beckoning portal.

Then, abruptly, he was inside her, the head lodged into the doorway of her womanhood, and he gave a convulsive thrust of his pelvis. In an instant, he was within her, his swollen pillar buried to the hilt. The sensation of full penetration froze them for a moment, both of them near orgasm at the sheer physical power of it all.

Then a primal sensation surged through Spock and he began to move, pounding into her with an almost savage delight, still holding her by her hair, pulling her head back slightly in the process. Christine loved it, this feeling of being taken in such a barbaric fashion. It didn't take long. Within a couple of minutes, Spock gasped audibly and slammed into her one final time, his hips shuddering in little paroxysms of uncontrollable physical reaction as his orgasm pumped wave after wave of release into her.

Then it was over and he slumped against her back, still buried within her, but the tension going out of his body. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I did not intend to lose control that way."

"Don't worry about that, my love," she murmured back with a definitely sinister tone to her voice. "The night is young ... and you'll have plenty of opportunity to make it up to me!"

"Indeed?" he questioned, an amused expression on his face. "Then perhaps I should begin to do so."

Straightening, he withdrew from her, glad that the steamy water enveloped his half-spent penis and caressed it with warmth. The transition from her hot, wet interior to the hot, wet pool invigorated and soothed him. He turned Christine to face him and they both sank down deeper into the water, the sandy bottom cushioning their knees and bringing the level of the water chest-high. Christine couldn't help chuckling softly as her breasts floated buoyantly as if offering themselves to Spock's caresses.

He took advantage of the situation, bending to cup the soft globes with both hands from underneath and plying his tongue from above. He trailed his tongue over her creamy skin, varying his routine with kisses and nibbles, gently squeezing and massaging her as he did so. It was inevitable that pearly drops soon oozed from her distended nipples and he lapped them away.

Then, pressing her breasts together, he took one nipple in his mouth and suckled with a steady, gentle pressure. He kept this up for only a few seconds, then switched to the other, doing the same. Back and forth he went, his tongue teasing, the suction of his mouth playing havoc with her engorged, sensitive nipples.

He was careful never to hurt her, fully aware of her reactions through their mental bond. Indeed, he knew when her arousal began to approach a critical point and he ended his almost‑rough suckling and released her breasts from his grip, changing his oral attention to one of gentle licking. At the same time, one hand slipped down the curve of her belly and between her spread legs.

Christine gasped, her head thrown back, as she felt his searching fingers slide down until they reached the opening of her vagina, then move back up again. He did this again, but exerted just a bit more pressure against her on the stroke up. Squirming in ecstasy, she spread wider, encouraging him.

Again he moved his fingers downward, but this time on the stroke up he let one fingertip slip between her labia, accessing the well of slickness hiding there. When the finger reached the top of its stroke, it played over her clitoris and Christine jerked in reaction, moaning a little.

A second finger joined the first and pressed minutely deeper on the downward sweep, coating themselves still more with her lubrication. And this time, when they reached the peak of their caress, they stayed on the hard little nub and began to massage it rhythmically.

Christine arched her back and pushed her hips up in answer, her eyes closed and her breath coming in short gasps. Spock slipped his other hand under the small of her back to support her and left off his attention to her breasts, now heaving out of the water and shaking with the movement of her body. He increased the tempo of his kneading caress, watching her closely, experiencing what she was experiencing as their bond soared fully open. He was fully erect once again, but holding himself in control. This was Christine's moment.

When it seemed she could stand it no longer, he suddenly moved his hand lower and plunged the two fondling fingers inside her, reaching as deeply as he could, working them within her clutching passage and thrusting them gently but quickly back and forth.

Christine exploded in orgasm, her whole body lifting up as she rode his plunging fingers. The backwash flooded through Spock and he barely caught himself from ejaculating spontaneously into the water. Quickly, he clamped down on his control and made himself concentrate on his wife's climax and refuse his own. She was still rigid, her body gripping his fingers tightly, then she sighed deeply and sagged, the pinnacle passed.

To ease her back down, he withdrew his fingers but returned to light and tender stroking, assuring that her arousal would remain but that she would come back to a more relaxed state. Sighing again, she slumped into the arm he put around her shoulders, drawing her against his chest, enjoying his intimate touch but no longer orgasmic.

When he felt her mood reach a mellow simmer, he took his fingers from between her thighs and then he too settled back against the side of the hot pool, allowing her to rest before guiding them both to the next level of their night of love.

Christine snuggled against him for a while, then murmured, "Spock ... let's go to bed. I'm starting to feel like a poached egg in this hot tub."

He chuckled softly into her hair. "I was beginning to wonder when you would reach your tolerance level. Very well. To bed, my wife."

He stood and assisted her to her feet, for she was growing ponderous as her pregnancy progressed. After helping her out, he retrieved one of their soft chamois towels and dried her, then she returned the favor for him. Neither was sated sexually and the intimate caresses brought them back to a level of arousal that hastened them to the sleeping furs spread by the fire. The flames were low, but the steam from the hot springs kept the night air ambient with its warmth. Overhead, the three moons were midway through their journey and shed a soft light over the scene.

Pulling the fur blanket over them, Spock drew his wife back into his arms, their lips meeting in a long, languorous kiss, their tongues fencing leisurely and their hands roaming over backs and hips. Fatigue was hovering on the edge of their embrace, but neither would allow its approach until the final ember of passion had flared and died away.

She could feel his erection pressing into her stomach and she shoved at his shoulder, encouraging him to roll onto his back. Gladly, he did so and she moved atop him, swinging her leg over his hips, kneeling astride him. His rigid manhood found its goal quickly and with the ease of familiarity, making her shudder slightly as she sank down onto the sweet impalement. She had never ceased to marvel at how perfectly he fit into her depths, how fully he filled her hollowness, and with what joy she welcomed his heated masculinity within her.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she began to rock her hips in the ancient motion of love, driving him deeper with each forward thrust, then backing off to start anew. His face smoothed out into an expression of abandon, a little smile lifting his lips and his large hands came up to cup her heavy breasts, fingers kneading her gently as he did so.

Passion built quickly between them. Within her, Christine could feel Spock's erection harden even more, stretching to its limits as his orgasm approached. She rocked harder against him, the imminent explosion fueling her own excitement. Their rhythm became one of primal instincts, his pelvis bucking up in time with hers, locked in perfect synchronicity.

Then his hands slipped down to clutch her hips and hold her hard against him, assuring that there would be no uncoupling now, no breaking of the physical bond between them.

His eyes closed as he focused totally on the volcano in his groin, Spock slammed up into her a half dozen more times, then arched up beneath her, keeping her firmly against him, groaning aloud as rapture tore his essence from his soul and emptied it into hers. She threw her head back and moaned as well, his climax triggering her own. Gripping him with her thighs, her fingernails dug into the firm planes of his pectorals, Christine rode his eruption with savage ecstasy, quivering anew with each blast of lava he shot into her.

And then it was over and fatigue took them at last. Deflated, the euphoria fading away, Christine slipped from atop him and turned so that her back snuggled into his front. Spock kissed the back of her neck lightly and slid his arm over her waist, resting his hand lightly on the growing evidence of their love and marriage. Beneath his palm, the baby moved slightly, causing Christine to sigh happily as she fell asleep.

The clearing fell silent, lost in the dreamy depths of deep night and well-earned slumber. And overhead, Picku finally shifted the position she had held motionless for hours now, watching the bipeds as they had gone about their nightly rituals and strangely exciting mating habits.

She was young and had no mate, but she knew the ways of her people. What she had just witnessed puzzled her greatly. The female biped was gravid already, near to birth, yet she had engaged in obvious mating with her male. Among Picku's people, mating was only for reproduction. Once heat was over and pregnancy achieved, a female would not allow a male's sexual advances. And yet these creatures had mated with great enthusiasm and pleasure, in various positions and means of stimulus.

Picku's thoughts turned to her friend Ss'lck, the young biped asleep in the hide shelter. He was male but juvenile as was she. Would he mate in that way when it was time? she wondered. A new and dangerous and exciting idea struck her then. Would he mate with _her_? The thought sent a surge of forbidden arousal shivering through the young lemur. Then she stopped the idea before it could go any further. No! Impossible!

In an instant, with only a faint scrambling sound to mark her passing, Picku turned and leaped away, hurriedly making her way to where her father and the fisherfolk were waiting some miles away. Traveling via treetop, her night vision perfect in the moonlight, she covered the distance within a half an hour, leaving far behind the strange creatures that had interrupted her well-ordered life.

* * *

It took nearly a week before the cabin was habitable again. The first thing they did was build an extremely smoky fire in the fireplace, retreating and sealing the door as they did so. Smoke rapidly filled the log cabin with a choking fog and it wasn't long before the uninvited inhabitants began to evacuate their ill-chosen home with haste. Scruffy went into full hunting mode and proved herself an outstanding mouser, pouncing and killing the suddenly abundant prey that scurried from the cabin.

The next morning, Spock and Christine opened the cabin again and allowed it to stand that way for two days to air out thoroughly, clearing it both of smoke and the odor of rodents. As it did so, they all three turned to other immediate concerns.

There was a woodpile remaining from when they had last left the cabin to return to their northern valley home, but it would never see them through the winter. While Christine and Sapel went in search of deadwood and fallen limbs, Spock retrieved his stone axe from his belongings and began to chop wood. His full strength had not yet returned, but he was able to fell two trees and chop them into short sections, splitting those sections into quarters. By the end of the day, when he had transported the wood to the cabin and added it to Christine and Sapel's loads, he was completely exhausted.

The hot pool soothed aches and pains for all three of them, most especially Spock, whose barely healed leg was bothering him more than he would admit. All slept deeply that night, tired to the bone.

The following day, they turned their attention to food. The supplies that they had brought and those provided by the Lemurians was nearly exhausted. The easiest source of food was the nearby beach and they spent the day there, staying well away from the surf line. All had learned the hard way what lived in these waters when a huge, plesiosaur-like animal had nearly dragged Sapel to his death when he was three. He still had the scars on his foot to testify to his narrow escape.

But the family could not ignore the bounties of the sea. They built their fire well up the beach, near enough to the hillside and trees to be able to escape easily if danger threatened and Spock kept a sharp lookout for any signs of an impending attack while his wife and son collected food. Today, however, the ocean was placid, lapping up onto the light brown sands and pulling back again. It was low tide and the retreating waters had exposed tide pools, giving Christine and Sapel access to the usually hidden animals there ... oyster-like mollusks, little crabs, anemones that had to be handled with care until their stinging tentacles could be cleaned off and the shells cracked for the succulent meat within. There were stranded fish, too, in some of the pools and all went into the collecting baskets.

When they had gathered all that they could use, Christine and Sapel returned to the fire and they began preparing their meal. Christine had brought a large carved stone cooking bowl, which she set onto the fire and filled with water from a water pouch. Adding crushed salt to it, she allowed the water to come to a boil while sorting through their catch. She and Sapel quickly cleaned their catch and tossed crabs, oysters and anemones into the boiling water. The fish were gutted and filleted, then laid out on a flat stone to dry in the sun. They would be smoked later on, preserving the flesh for later use.

Spock took no part in the preparations of the meal. He found it abhorrent to throw living creatures into boiling water, no matter how many times Christine had explained that it was necessary with shellfish in order to prevent toxins from being released into the meat. It seemed unspeakably cruel to him, although hard-nosed logic convinced him to eat of that meat later on.

The abandonment of his cultural vegetarianism had been hard for Spock to accept. But during the first winter he and Christine had spent on Terra Two, he had been injured and there had been no other food to sustain him. She had begun mixing meat into the thin vegetable soup she prepared for him, bolstering his strength and recovery. He had been absolutely furious when he discovered her deception, but she had replied with an equal fire, ultimately arguing him down with such scything logic and passionate fact that he submitted. This was a matter of survival. The Tenets of Surak must be set aside in the face of cold reality.

He felt ashamed at times, though, his upbringing at war with his current life, and it made a hard lump in his stomach as he joined his wife and son to feast on the shellfish and mollusks that were ladled out of the boil, bursting with the incomparable flavor of seafood freshly caught. _C'thia_ , Spock reminded himself coldly. _What is_. _To eat this way is logical. To be ashamed is not_. And once again logic won out in a way his father could never have perceived, for logic was a malleable concept and Sarek was rigid in his own interpretation of it.

The thought caused Spock to smile a bit sardonically. He could never conceive of Sarek sitting on a beach, digging crabmeat out of its shell with the point of a knife. Sarek would not bend in his beliefs and thus would have perished years ago on this planet. In that way, Spock knew that he was better than his father, for he had always been compelled to bend with the blowing wind and thus had survived to grow strong and resolute. Spock was living proof of what Nietzsche had said: "That which does not kill me makes me stronger."

The Vulcan looked up at the woman who had survived with him and to the child they had brought into the world. They were all stronger, he decided, for the conditions that had placed them here. As long as they were together, they could make it through anything.

Christine caught him looking at her and smiled in return, her blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight. "There's still food in the pot," she said. "Do you want some more?"

"Please," Spock answered and passed his stone bowl over to her.

* * *

Winter swept in with cold rain and continued with chill foggy weather. The deciduous trees of the woods shed their remaining leaves in a shower of gold and rust, carpeting the forest floor in a multi-hued panorama. On the marshes to the east, thousands of water birds took up residence and fed on the abundant shellfish and crustaceans that lived and bred there. Other birds and small animals fed on the nuts, berries and fruits that remained in the thickly wooded slopes of the hillsides, foraging through the leaf litter for choice tidbits.

As the cold month progressed, Spock, Christine and Sapel fell into a routine and enjoyed the quiet times after their traumatic summer and fall. Spock divided his time between hunting the fat marsh birds and the small game of the area and keeping their woodpile stocked. It was hard work and he never felt completely recovered from his near-fatal ordeal of just a few weeks before. He found that he had to rest more frequently and for longer periods of time, but still pushed himself to carry out the necessary duties of their survival.

Christine's pregnancy was advanced now. She was slowing down as her belly expanded enormously. Her breath short, her endurance limited, and afflicted with all the aches and pains of late pregnancy, she and Sapel spent their days scouring the woodlands for the fruits and nuts still available, Sapel doing the physical labor of gathering and carrying for his mother. At other times, when Christine did not feel up to doing even that, the two would while away the day fishing. It was quiet but productive work and the fish they caught would be dried and smoked.

Much of the game Spock brought home was prepared the same way. They had figured out a way to make salt from the readily available sea water, and much of their catch was salted down for preservation as well. Slowly, their larder of supplies built up, although it was never extremely abundant. Fortunately, food was always plentiful here at the sea coast with the ever-renewing population of ocean life.

Thus did the winter pass until the deepest and darkest month was upon them. Terra Two's orbit required fifteen months to make its year. For convenience, they had given Earth names to twelve of those months and the remaining three had been dubbed Tasmeen, Ah'keth, and et'Dhior, after the winter months of Vulcan. They were now at the beginning of January of the new year, a time of short days and long nights, of storms and howling winds off the ocean, when spring seemed impossibly far away and when winter seemed to have continued forever.

It had been raining for two days now and the signs pointed to what might have been called a Nor'easter in the New England states of North America. High winds pummeled the cabin and kept the family housebound from the torrential rains that poured down. It was just as well, for Christine had not been feeling well lately. She was near her time and spent much of the day lying on the soft bed that Spock had made her. Saving all the feathers he plucked from the birds he had snared, combining this with a packing of leaves and marsh plant fiber, he had used their bull-hide tent to fashion a mattress and stuffed it with all the soft materials he could find. It was crude, but so much better than sleeping on the dirt floor. It felt like sleeping on a cloud to Christine, whose body ached all over now.

Still, she found that a comfortable position eluded her today and she continually shifted and turned, her back throbbing with a low, persistent pain. Spock, who had been weaving a simple but functional fishing net near the fire, noted her restlessness and got up to check on her.

"What is it, _t'hy'la_?" he asked. "Can I get you something?"

"No, thank you, Spock," she smiled, still looking preoccupied. "I just can't get comfortable, that's all."

"Do you think it's the baby?" he asked, concerned.

Christine seemed to be focusing her attention inward. "Maybe," she admitted. "It's time. I haven't had any contractions, but the baby's been engaged in my pelvis all week." She looked up at him and smiled, her blue eyes bright once more. "Wouldn't it be just our luck that it would decide to come during the worst storm this winter?"

He smiled back, brushing his fingertips down her cheek. "Indeed. You do not believe in doing things the easy way."

She gave a short, sardonic laugh. "If you think having a baby is easy, you should try it sometime, mister!" Then she captured his hand and kissed his fingers. "I'm all right. Go back to doing what you were doing. I'll let you know if something radical happens."

"Please do!" he responded, his brows raised in amusement. "I should hate to miss the birth of my child because you are too busy to tell me about it!"

Christine slapped at him. "Just for that, you can forget about participating! Maybe I'll just go off into the woods and give birth in a cave or something!"

He sat back on his heels, a devilish smile lifting the corners of his mouth and crinkling his eyes. "Highly unlikely, my wife. You can barely get up any longer without assistance!"

"Get lost!" she ordered in response, then laughed despite herself. Bending over, he kissed her forehead and then returned to his chore.

* * *

Christine had lost track of how long she'd been huddled in Spock's arms. All she knew was that the heat of his body pressed against her back soothed the pain somewhat and that she felt safe with his strong arms encircling her. When he left her for short periods of time ... to care for Sapel or tend the fire or attend to his own needs ... then she began to drown once again in the constant, ceaseless pain and was not content again until she felt him settle in behind her once more.

The pains had begun before dawn. At least she thought it must be dawn. It was hard to tell with the storm's heavy clouds and thrumming rain darkening any daylight that tried to break through. Within the windowless cabin, the only daylight would have come through the front door and that was barred against the wind and rain. Her internal time sense told her it was dawn, though, and Spock had confirmed it.

At first everything had seemed normal as early labor began. Her contractions were mild and came roughly every twenty minutes. She had puttered about getting breakfast and then readying her bed for the birth. There was a large elk hide that she had tanned long ago at their home up north and which they had left stored here in the cabin. It was still in good shape and she had washed and dried it a month before, stretching and pounding it until it was soft and pliant, absorbent enough to protect the bedding from the blood and fluids of birth. Christine had laid this down on the mattress and gotten together anything they might need. Then there was nothing to do but wait.

Christine had a pretty good idea of what the ensuing day would involve. Sapel's birth and that of the lost child T'Larin, who had died just minutes after coming into the world, had each taken about eighteen hours. Labor had progressed steadily through the various stages, almost in textbook fashion. There had been no surprises to a trained nurse such as Christine. Obstetrics was just one of the fields she had studied and her own pregnancies had allowed her firsthand knowledge in interpreting a normal labor and birth. She felt certain that she would have this child sometime after midnight.

But the day passed with no discernible progress. The contractions kept up at a steady rate, gradually becoming harder, but something about it didn't feel right to Christine. Her uterus was bearing down to expel the fetus, but the baby didn't seem to be moving down as it should at this stage. And her water hadn't broken yet either, something she would have expected.

Finally, long after Sapel had fallen asleep and the only sounds in the cabin were the howling of the storm outside and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth, Christine grasped Spock's arm and held on through yet another contraction. It was well into the wee hours of the morning, nearly a full day after her labor had begun, and she was worried now. When the contraction eased, she took a deep breath and said, "I need for you to do an exam, Spock. This baby should be here by now. I need to know what's happening!"

Stunned and worried himself, he sat back from where he'd been wiping her face with a cool chamois cloth. "I do not possess the medical knowledge I need, Christine," he answered, somewhat at a loss. "I don't think I could supply you with a useful report."

"Yes ... yes, I know..." she panted. "But I _do_ have the knowledge." She paused and gulped. "Meld with me! Look into my mind and you'll know what to do!"

Spock's brows shot up. He had not considered a mind meld for this purpose. But now he saw the logic of his wife's request. Quickly, he bent over her and moved his fingers into position on her face. Their marriage bond made the way easy and her receptiveness further hastened the link. It took only a couple of minutes, then he pulled away, his brain swimming with medical terms and images. It was dizzying and for a long moment, he held steady, eyes closed, trying to center himself once more.

"Hurry, Spock!" Christine pleaded, breaking his concentration. "Before another contraction starts."

"Yes, of course..." He poured heated water into a bowl and scrubbed his hands as clean as he could get them, then turned to where Christine had prepared herself, drawing up her sleeping dress to bare her pelvis and spreading her knees apart. Spock hesitated once again. "I will try not to hurt you, _t'hy'la_ ," he whispered.

"Just do it!" she answered through clenched teeth. "Check to see how much I'm dilated and where the baby is! If the head's coming down... oh...." She groaned and panted as a contraction gripped her.

Spock held off until the cramp had eased, then said, "All right ... now..." Armed with Christine's knowledge, he slipped two fingers into her vagina and pushed in until he could feel her cervix. It seemed wide open and, most importantly, it was plugged by a hard, smooth obstruction.

"I feel the baby's head," he reported. "You are fully dilated but the baby has not yet moved into the birth canal."

"Okay, okay... ah!!" She gripped her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from crying aloud. Abruptly, fluid gushed out of her and Spock quickly withdrew his fingers, somewhat horrified with the thought that he had seriously injured her. But Christine managed a short hard laugh at his expression. "You just broke my water, Spock. It's okay. This will help, in fact. It shouldn't be long now."

"I hope so, beloved," he answered, washing his hands thoroughly again. He moved to slip a dry chamois towel beneath her hips, then covered her to prevent chills. "Tell me what I can do to help you," he implored, stroking her fevered cheek.

Groaning, Christine turned on her side and cradled her abdomen. "Just hold me, Spock," she whispered, closing her eyes against the pain. "Please ... just hold me..."

* * *

Sapel made himself small in the darkness of his sleeping alcove, sitting cross-legged on his furs and clutching Scruff to him. He had been forgotten by his parents, both of them engaged in what had become a life or death struggle to deliver his mother of her new baby. Nearly a whole other day had passed now, one filled with Christine's moans and screams, Spock's grim, low encouragements to his wife, and the groaning of the cabin about them as the storm peaked to its primal fury, buffeting the little dwelling with howling winds, pounding rain and ground-shaking thunder.

It drove the boy and his pet to the most secluded corner of the room, a depression in the hill's rocky face that had served as basis for the cabin's building. The rest of the house had been constructed around the little cave and this area was Sapel's sanctuary. Now he sat trembling with fear ... of the storm and moreso that his mother could very well die before this baby was born. Unbidden, tears slid down his face to fall unnoticed into Scruffy's spotted fur. Sensing his distress, the hunting cat snuggled under this chin and purred, but the boy only held her closer and rocked in misery, watching the final act of the drama unfolding before him.

Christine was nearly too exhausted by her ordeal to push any longer. Slowly and with agonizing progress, the baby had moved through her pelvis and had now crowned. And that's as far as it would go. Now naked, unable to stand the feel of any clothing constricting her, she lay back for a moment, panting, her body drenched with sweat.

Spock, nearly as worn out and disheveled as his wife, knelt between her spread knees. "It's almost out, Christine," he told her, a note of irritation in his voice. "You simply must push harder with the next contraction."

She flared up at him. "I've been pushing! I've pushed 'til I see stars!" She flopped back, her strength gone. "Oh, God... I can't push anymore," she whimpered. "We need some forceps..."

Spock's patience was frayed as well. "We don't have any forceps!" he shouted at her, then was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry." For the past few hours, he had been using endearments that he normally never used. His emotional control was nearly at an end from worry, fear and frustration. "I'll try to think of something."

"Work your fingers in around the head and try pulling gently," she said. "If that doesn't work, then you'll have to do an episiotomy."

He'd already thought of that and had sterilized his steel knife in a pot of boiling water. This had long since been set aside to cool. He turned yet again to scrub his hands clean, even as another contraction gripped his wife's body. Quickly he moved back to her as she strained and somehow managed to get two fingers of each hand wedged into her vagina on either side of the baby's head. Then, with gentle pressure, he exerted the lightest force.

The baby seemed to move a millimeter toward him but would come no farther and he eased off as Christine screamed in pain. As soon as he relaxed the pressure, the baby moved back to its original position. Spock sat back on his heels, near to the point of screaming himself. "It won't budge, Christine," he announced angrily, hating himself for feeling such animosity at the helpless creature that was killing his wife. "It's stuck!"

Christine lay panting, but her mind was quickly reviewing every pregnancy complication she could think of. "I think I know what's wrong," she murmured weakly. "Dystocia. Shoulder dystocia. The shoulders are stuck in my pelvis. The baby's too big to get through." She gulped and panted again. "Try McRoberts... might work..."

"What's that?" Spock asked, puzzled.

She licked her dry lips. "Push my knees as far back as you can get them toward my shoulders and wide apart. It might open my pelvis enough for the baby..." She grimaced and moaned through another contraction, this time fighting to keep from the useless pushing. After a moment, it eased off. "Rock my hips a little bit, too. But first ... give me something to bite on..."

Spock looked around quickly then found a leather strap and handed it to her. She slid it between her teeth and gripped the elk hide blanket beneath her. Then, her face beaded with sweat and her eyes fearful but determined, she gave a terse nod.

Spock gripped the backs of her knees and nearly bent her double, pushing her legs up and apart until she could grab them and hang on. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out of the corners, and a high keening sound escaped her throat despite the lock her teeth had on the leather strap.

The crown of the baby's head bulged from her vagina, but not far enough. Determined to bring this torture to an end, Spock seized Christine's hip bones and rolled her from side to side. The baby pushed out a tiny bit more. Working frantically, he snatched up his sterilized knife and pushed a fingertip in between the baby's half-emerged face and Christine's body, then with a quick downward slash, cut an inch-long gash from her vagina toward her rectum.

Christine screamed but hung on mindlessly to her reared back legs, blood running down her thighs from where her nails were digging in to her skin. Spock didn't notice. His whole attention was on the baby's head as it suddenly surged forward through the enlarged opening. Dropping the knife, he clutched the child's head and gently pulled, twisting the baby's body slightly.

With a gush of blood and amniotic fluid, the baby girl came free of her mother's body. Blue and unresponsive from her long ordeal, the infant lay limply in Spock's hands as he bent over her, working frantically. Digging a plug of mucous out of her mouth, he blew down her throat to get her lungs to expand, then thumped the bottom of her feet with a finger and massaged her back vigorously. Nothing.

He blew another breath into her mouth and stimulated her by bundling her into a chamois blanket, rubbing her all over. The baby gasped convulsively, jerked, and squalled, sucking in her first breaths. For a moment, Spock clutched his daughter against him, the surge of relief he felt nearly overwhelming him. But then he quickly caught himself and turned to his wife, lying motionless on her bed.

Christine was out, fainted dead away by the final violence of the delivery. _Good_ , Spock thought, knowing that he had more work to do here. He still had the afterbirth to deliver, the crude episiotomy to stitch, bleeding to pack, the newborn to care for... Trembling suddenly with fatigue, he took a moment to hang his head in weariness, thanking his ancestors that this part of it was over at last.

Thunder crashed and a small sound from the back of the house in response caught his attention. Tiredly, Spock raised his head and peered at the boy crouching in the darkness, his face barely visible in the firelight.

With a faint smile, Spock held out one hand to his son. "Sapel ... come and see your new sister," he whispered.

* * *

Amanda T'Jenn t'cha'Spock hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch was asleep in her mother's arms, recovered well from the trauma of her difficult birth and as beautiful a baby as Christine had ever seen. While Sapel took after his Vulcan father, T'Jenn looked more Human. There was a delicate dark fuzz on her head that promised to be the sable of Christine's hair color rather than the raven black of Spock's, and her eyes were the same sapphire blue as her mother's. Her ears had a suggestion of a pointed tip, but it was not overt, and her eyebrows followed a more Human curve than Vulcan slant.

The fierce storm of the last week had blown itself out, leaving a crystalline sky above them and placid waves lapping against the beach. And from the south, across the waters, there was a fresh breath of early spring, still too cool and brisk to do more than hint at the change of seasons, but holding promise nonetheless.

Christine had remained bedridden for the ten days since her baby's birth. In lingering pain and weakened severely by the struggle to deliver her daughter, she could do little just yet. Even attending to personal hygiene was nearly impossible on her own and Spock had to assist her in bathing and on her trips to the latrine.

Still, lying with her baby asleep beside her, Christine felt the sublime happiness of new motherhood and was happier than she'd been in a very long time. She had lost her previous two babies, which made T'Jenn all the more miraculous. They took extreme care to keep her safe, all too aware of the dangers their adopted planet held. Christine slept much better at night knowing that a sturdy, barred door stood between them and the outside world.

But this afternoon it stood partially open, allowing fresh air into the cabin and the shafts of sunlight to creep across the swept dirt floor. The scent of returning life, of trees not quite budded but bursting with potential, and of an occasional very early blooming bulb did much to restore Christine's spirits.

Spock stretched his long frame out on the bedding pallet beside his wife, their newborn between them, and propped himself up on one elbow, his head resting in the palm of his hand. With the other, he stroked a finger lightly over the baby's head and then down to tease at tiny balled fists. T'Jenn relaxed her hand a bit and then curled her fist back around the tip of her father's little finger, itself impossibly huge next to the infant's.

"I never cease to be amazed," Spock commented softly, his attention focused on his daughter, "how perfect and yet how tiny she is."

Christine offered him a smile that was radiant with love. "She didn't seem very tiny to me when I was trying to give birth to her," she answered in the same low voice. "I wonder how much she weighed."

"Impossible to be precise under these circumstances, but easily over nine pounds."

"Close to ten, I'd guess." She looked up and caught her husband's dark eyes, her own blue ones twinkling. "Are Vulcan babies generally that large?"

"Actually, it is not unusual, but then Vulcan gestation is ten months long. Sapel would have been considered premature when he was born," Spock replied, returning his attention to T'Jenn. " _I_ was. I spent that final month in an incubator in the neonatal unit."

For an instant, Christine tried to picture her tall, robust husband as a premature baby, but then her thoughts flashed to the preemies she had seen during her nursing classes. Some of them barely looked human, more like tiny red monkeys lying covered with wires and tubes and monitors. She had wanted to cry every time she had duty in the NICU, for some of those barely formed little babies never made it, despite all the medical care they received.

She looked down at the beautiful face of her child, eyes closed as she slept, rose petal mouth making occasional sucking movements. "Oh, my sweet lovie," Christine murmured as she stroked the delicate skin of the baby's cheek. "Please grow up safe and strong."

She was caught a little off-guard when Spock's fingers, folded into the doubled _ni'ta'lat_ form, caressed her temple and moved down to her lips. The warmth and adoration of his touch sent a tingling flush throughout her body and she closed her eyes in response.

When she opened them a moment later, it was to find him bending near her, his lips hovering over hers, parted slightly in anticipation, his warm breath light as the spring breeze. Readily, she let her lashes drop once more and leaned into his kiss. It was sweet and soft, his mouth moving over hers in unhurried bliss.

When they drew apart, he caressed her cheek once again, his dark velvety eyes depthless with the intensity of his emotions. "I love you," he whispered.

Tears formed abruptly in Christine's eyes, for it was something he hardly ever said. I cherish thee or something in Vulcan, but never those three simple, meaningful words. Unable to speak, her throat closed with a sob, she pulled his lips back against hers and this time put all the love she had for him into the kiss.

Outside, the high, liquid song of a bird erupted in the treetops, a sure sign that spring had arrived to renew the world.

 

END OF PART SEVEN

PART EIGHT – "LEMURIA" – FOLLOWS

 


	8. Year Eight -- Lemuria

**Present Day**

The fury of the wind had reached a crescendo, the hurricane building to its full force in the wee hours of the morning. After the eyewall had passed over them and the wind had turned around to the opposite direction from which it had been blowing, the weakened pines in the woods around the cabin began to snap in the face of hundred and fifty mile per hour winds. Torrential rains poured down the hillside around the little log cabin built into the rock of the hill, washing broken tree trunks and rivers of mud down with it.

Inside the cabin, Spock and Christine had moved with their three children back underneath the rock overhang that formed the sleeping chamber. The furor of the storm was threatening to tear the cabin roof away and already water was being forced between the logs of the walls.

The children were terrified and so was Christine, although she tried to control it. Spock was afraid, too, never having experienced anything like the typhoon that raged around them. He held T'Jenn close to him as the little girl buried her face in her father's chest, shaking and weeping, and Christine clutched both baby T'Kai and eleven-year-old Sapel in her arms. Their hunting cat, Scruffy, was crouched behind Sapel, her eyes enormous with fear, her spotted fur raised. All of them pressed back as far as they could, the sparse protection of the native rock the only sure shelter they had.

Outside they could hear trees breaking and crashing down, barely audible above the screech and roar of wind and rain. They heard something else — two high pitched screams that cut through the noise, and Sapel started up in alarm.

"The horses!" he cried, referring to the _mesohippus_ mare and colt in the lean-to stable and corral.

Spock grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "You can't help them!" he stated forcefully.

"But, they're in trouble!"

"They'll have to fend for themselves," Spock answered. "It would be suicide to try to get to them now."

Sapel subsided, grief-stricken at what his beloved little horse and her new colt must be going through. But his father was right. No one could make it out to the stable in this storm.

As if to punctuate the fact, another tall pine crashed down, too near the cabin for comfort. The ground shook with its impact and thunder boomed like an exploding photon shell as if in triumph. Above the trapped family, the roof timbers groaned but held ... barely. The whole cabin was shaking now in the wind and muddy water was beginning to pour through the junction between roof and hillside.

Spock pushed his wife and children back even farther, knowing in his heart that the log cabin wouldn't last out the night. He thanked the Ancestors that the wind was now blowing from behind them. Had it been coming straight on, none of them would have any chance of survival.

He heard the rock chimney begin to crumble and fall and then the first roofing beam went. It weakened the front wall and that collapsed, taking the rest of the roof down with it. Amid the screams of his wife and children, Spock watched almost in fascination as the cabin he had built by hand disintegrated before his eyes. Tall trees round them snapped as they bent before the wind and one slammed fully down on what was left of the log cabin.

The last thing Spock knew was the flash of scenes from his life and a time once before when he'd very nearly lost all his family here. Then the world went black and he knew no more...

* * *

**Year Eight...**

The spring sun on Christine's face warmed much more than her skin. It felt wonderful to be outside on such a glorious day, even if she was still weakened from her ordeal ten weeks before in giving birth to baby T'Jenn, who lay sleeping on the spread leather blanket beside her. She had slowly been regaining her strength, enough to do easy chores around their homesite and be up and around more each day. Spock tended to fuss over her but Christine felt fine.

She simply didn't have the stamina to work as hard as she normally did. But that would come in time. Today, she sat in the sun and prepared a bowl of early spring greens for cooking. They grew throughout the woods and resembled fern heads, but tasted something like asparagus. She had picked them this morning after Spock and Sapel had left to go birding and egg-gathering at the sea cliffs a mile or so down the shore.

The sea birds had begun nesting on the cliffs and it was the only time of the year when fresh eggs were available. It was dangerous work gathering them, however, both because the birds tended to build their nests on the rocky expanses above the ocean and because the mother birds did not take kindly to having their nests robbed. Usually, Spock warded off the squawking, diving birds while Sapel, who was more supple and sure-footed than his father, made quick work of snatching eggs and storing them in a shoulder pouch he carried. He never took too many, only a dozen or so, just enough to make a meal. They didn't keep very long anyway, so it made no sense to steal too many at any one time.

Christine shuddered at the thought of her son clambering around the cliffs, but he had the agility of youth and, anyway, Spock made him wear a safety rope tied around his waist ... Just in case. Sapel was an excellent climber, shinnying up trees to pluck down fruit or nuts, climbing vines like a monkey, or finding purchase on a rock face with ease. Still, she couldn't help but worry.

She looked down at her baby girl, dozing on her stomach beside her. T'Jenn had been very robust at birth, almost too big to be born vaginally, and she had continued to gain weight on her mother's abundant milk. She had nothing of Sapel's Vulcan leanness and her plumpness made Christine think of her great-grandmother, a short, stocky little woman with a fierce temper and boundless heart when it came to her "grandbabies".

"Oh, Nanna," Christine smiled to herself. "What would you think of having part-Vulcan babies to cuddle? Would you be horrified or would you find room on your lap for them, too?" Something told her it was the latter. Nanna had taken no nonsense off anyone but she was also the most pragmatic, practical woman Christine had ever met. She missed her terribly all of a sudden.

T'Jenn began to stir restlessly and whimper. Her little face screwed up and turned red, then she let out a thin, pitiful wail. Christine already knew what that expression meant. "Whoops! Time for a diaper change, hmm?" She quickly dumped the bowl of prepared greens into the cooking pot at the edge of the fire, the water already simmering, then reached to retrieve T'Jenn's "diaper bag". It was actually a leather pouch that carried sphagnum moss and plant fuzz for absorbency and an extra chamois cloth.

Sitting cross-legged on the blanket, she gently turned her infant onto her back and untied the chamois she wore. "Oooo, pooo!!" she announced in an exaggerated voice to the baby who blinked blue eyes up at her mother. "You're a nasty girl! You're just a poo-bear, you know that?"

T'Jenn gave her a toothless grin and waved her arms, now perfectly happy that she was getting attention. Christine set to work changing the soiled diaper, setting the used moss to one side to be disposed of. After cleaning her hands in a bowl of water, Christine got to her feet a bit laboriously, still sporting some residual soreness from the birth, then knelt down to bring her baby up to her shoulder and hold her there with one hand, delicately catching a corner of the soiled moss with the other.

"What makes you such a stinker?" she asked the child conversationally as she walked a short distance from the camp and tossed the moss away among the trees. "Do you think you're a stinker? No, you're my sweetie girl, aren't you?" Christine cuddled the baby close and rocked her a little in an age-old, instinctive rhythm.

A faint noise drifted its way through the trees from the direction of the beach and, curious, Christine made her way in that direction. It wasn't far and it didn't take the woman long to identify it. Looking down from the hillside onto the long expanse of sand, she saw that it was occupied by hundreds of the seal-like mammals that took up residence here every spring. They were barking and quarreling among themselves, new pups squawling and bulls vying for the breeding rights to the soon-to-be estrous cows.

The seal colony was far enough down the beach not to disturb the family on the hillside, but it bothered Christine immensely nonetheless. The spring return of the seals meant the return of something else here on the shore of Southern Sea ... the plesiosaur-like reptiles that preyed on the mammals and came up onto shore to hunt them.

The beach would no longer be safe to use while the seals remained. And it also meant that the swarms of biting insects off the marshes would soon descend in clouds on anything that offered a meal of blood. It was time to evacuate Sea Home and return north.

* * *

"The seals are back," Christine commented that evening over supper.

"I know," Spock replied, cracking and peeling one of the dozen or so gull eggs he and Sapel had managed to find today. Boiled and sprinkled with crushed salt, they offered a welcome change from the fish and meat that was so prevalent in their diets. "They are so noisy and stink so much that it would be hard to miss them."

"Well? When do we leave?" Christine inquired, shifting T'Jenn to her other breast where the baby set to nursing once more. She became aware that Spock hadn't answered her and looked up to find him staring steadfastly at her face. "What?"

"I was waiting for the strike line of your joke," he dead-panned.

Christine narrowed her eyes and peered back at him. "That's punch line and there isn't one. Spring's here. It's time to leave."

"How?" the Vulcan responded. "You cannot travel any distance and the baby is too young to be taken on such a journey."

"Then we'll take it slow," Christine responded stubbornly.

"Out of the question."

"Spock, I am perfectly well! As long as we took it easy, I could make the trip in fine shape."

But her husband was gazing at her with that implacable, immovable expression on his face. She stared back, her brows lowering over sharp blue eyes, challenging him to dispute her. At last he spoke. "You are not yet fully recovered from T'Jenn's birth and you know it," he said evenly. "Your strength is sporadic and short-lived, not to mention the fact that you are exhausted from meeting the demands of a newborn."

"I'm not _that_ tired," she protested, but sensed that she'd already lost this argument.

"Then why do you take naps every afternoon once you have T'Jenn asleep?" Spock continued resolutely. "I have also seen how you groan when you get up and down, and the evident pain in your movement. I also know that you continue to bleed when you undertake things that are too strenuous for you." He was leaning forward now, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You could not possibly walk the distance from here to the Valley, carrying a child and a backpack, fording swollen creeks, struggling through mud, and being soaked by spring rains."

Christine averted her gaze from his, pretending to check on her nursing baby. "All right," she conceded after a few moments. "But you know we can't stay here."

"We have never stayed through the summer," he pointed out. "The spring is very bad, yes, with the insect swarms and sea beasts hunting along the shores, but perhaps it gets better once hotter weather sets in."

She looked back up at him. "And perhaps it gets worse. Anyway, have you ever spent a hot summer near the ocean? I have! The humidity is about 100% every day and it's ferociously hot. As bad as it would be for me and the children, you simply could not stand it. Dry heat can be tolerated, but not this wet heat. You cannot imagine how miserable it is! And, all that notwithstanding, we have no idea what sort of diseases these marshes harbor. All these biting flies and mosquitos could be carrying malaria or yellow fever or dengue fever or things much worse."

Spock tried a half-hearted little twitch of the corner of his mouth. "I truly doubt that this planet harbors either mosquitos or malaria."

Christine frowned warningly. She was in no mood for it now. "No, but you can bet there's something similar around. You've done enough research to know what sorts of diseases are carried by insect vectors. I do not propose to have us all die of encephalitis or some such."

T'Jenn began to fret and released her mother's nipple, whimpering. Without breaking her husband's gaze, Christine hoisted the baby to her shoulder and rubbed her back. In a moment, the infant gave a little burp and seemed more comfortable.

"No, Spock, we simply must go back up north for the summer. We'll make it ... somehow." She paused and rocked her child against her. "We've got to."

* * *

Against Spock's better judgment, they set out on their journey north, but Christine gave out before they had gone more than five miles or so. It was only mid-morning when she had to stop and rest, her face pale and beaded with sweat.

Breathing hard, she seated herself on a fallen log and sloughed off her backpack, shifting T'Jenn to a more comfortable position in the leather sling across her front. "I'm sorry," she panted. "Just give me a minute to catch my breath."

Spock and Sapel waited patiently, the Vulcan watching his wife keenly. After a few minutes, the boy wandered away as Scruffy began to stalk something in the underbrush. His parents ignored him. Instead, Spock crossed his arms over his chest and stood like a statue.

Noting his stance, Christine frowned. "Get that self-righteous look off your face," she said crossly. "I'm fine. I'm just out of shape, that's all."

"I do not find that explanation credible," he responded. "This is a foolhardy attempt at something you cannot accomplish."

"I don't know what your problem is, Spock, but you seem determined to fail before you even get started!" she snapped.

"It is not I who has a problem," he responded tightly. "You know full well that you do not have the strength to make this journey."

"We'll see whether I do or not!" she answered in a challenging tone. Christine started to stand, then went "oof!" as her knees buckled and she abruptly sat back down on the log. The jolt startled T'Jenn, who began to wail.

Spock sprang to his wife's aid and knelt down in front of her. "Christine! Are you all right?"

She had a rather startled expression on her face as well. "Yeah ... sure," she answered but looked as if she were still doing an inventory of all her bodily functions.

"Are you certain?" he persisted.

"Yes ... yes, I'm okay." Christine took a deep breath and turned her attention to her agitated baby, soothing her into quietness again. Once T'Jenn was settled, Christine smiled at her husband with a confidence she did not entirely feel. "I just slipped."

"That was not a slip," Spock replied, standing up. "You do not even have the strength to rise."

"Oh, bosh! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"I have decided, Christine!" he responded, his jaw tightening in irritation. "We are going back. You cannot travel any further."

"I can make another fifteen miles before sundown! I was just off-balance with the baby here," she argued. To prove it, she got to her feet, albeit a bit awkwardly.

"No," Spock repeated. "We are going back!" He had straightened to his full height and was glaring at her now, his brows bunched together angrily as his aggravation grew, his dark eyes smoldering.

"Oh, now, that's ridiculous!" she protested, ignoring the warning signs of his dwindling patience. "Just because I got a little winded—"

His patience snapped abruptly. " _S'ra' krokroykah!_ " he roared and the command blasted through her mind like a physical slap. Instantly, he was apologetic. "Christine! I'm sorry. I did not mean to be so forceful with you. Forgive me!"

She was almost dazed. "Spock! What was that?!"

He sighed and lowered his gaze. "Male Vulcan instinct, unfortunately. You were not listening to what I had decided for us and I lost my temper."

Sapel came running back through the trees. "What happened! Mama! Papa! Are you all right?"

His father had a rather ashamed expression on his face. "Yes ... yes, we are fine." He drew a breath and looked down at the boy. "Your mother has not recovered sufficiently to continue," Spock told him. "We are going back to Sea Home." He quickly shifted his gaze to Christine's eyes and, to forestall any arguments, added, "Perhaps we can set out again in a month. Maybe less. We'll see."

Christine backed down, her own stubbornness shattered by Spock's embarrassing loss of control. She hadn't needed to speak Vulcan to understand that he had emphatically ordered her to shut up. It had come loud and clear through their mind link. And she had understood too, just as instantaneously, that it was a Vulcan husband ordering his wife back to her place ... behind him and silent.

Ordinarily she would have flared back and the battle of wills would truly have begun, but that mental slap had carried something else within it — the knowledge that Spock acted in this instance for her welfare and not just because he was feeling his knuckles dragging on the ground. Taking a good honest look at herself, Christine admitted that she _wasn't_ up to this trip. They needed to go north, yes, but she wouldn't make it more than another day before she would collapse. Already her legs were feeling weak and she was very, very glad that the way home was all downhill.

Spock was peering at her, his dark mahogany eyes full of worry for her. "You concern yourself with T'Jenn," he said to her, softly. "I can carry your pack as well as mine on the way back home."

She nodded. "All right. I'm not sure I could handle both of them." She smiled up at the tall, dark-haired man before her. "I'm rested now. Let's go home."

Spock hoisted her backpack up onto his left shoulder and led the way down the gently sloping terrain toward the sea, about five miles distance. They would take it slow and easy, traveling at Christine's pace, but would be there by sunset. Sapel walked beside his mother, alert to help her if she should falter. He looked back once and clicked his tongue. The hunting cat appeared immediately and scampered after them, a small rodent in her jaws.

* * *

The flies were worse than ever as the spring progressed. The raucous herds of seals in residence on the beaches added to the number as their bodily waste, birth discharges, blood from fights, and leftovers from their fish catches piled up on the sands. In addition, the plesiosaurs were hunting in full force, their carnage increasing daily.

Climbing temperatures had also unleashed every mosquito, midge, gnat or other flying insect from the marshes to the east, all of them hungry for a meal and any warm-blooded animal that could supply it. For the native birds, it was a mixed blessing.

While the water fowl that had wintered here had already gone back north, there was a myriad of other shore birds that arrived to feast on the teeming insects and nest in the marshes and cliffs. However, the insects often seemed to do as much feeding on the birds as vice versa. In any case, the swarms never seemed to diminish.

For Spock and his family, they were effectively housebound. Christine had devised another batch of her horrible smelling insect repellent and they burned pine knots inside to ward off insects with the acrid smoke, but the remedy seemed almost as bad as the sickness. It wasn't entirely effective anyway. All four of them sported numerous itchy whelps. Even Scruffy was not immune. She had disappeared early on, finding refuge in a rock crevice too small to afford the others sanctuary.

The baby especially was miserable, doubly so as the days went by because she began to cut a tooth in addition to her other woes. She cried and fretted constantly and, in the close, smelly confines of the cabin, tempers soon began to fray.

After an especially testy exchange between Spock and Christine one evening when T'Jenn had cried for two hours and would not be comforted, Christine pinned her husband with a furious glare and stated, "I cannot stand it here another day, Spock! We are leaving here if I have to crawl every inch of the way!"

She was shaking with exhaustion and fury, tears filling her eyes. With a weary sigh, he gathered her in his arms and held her, instinctively raising his shields as her emotional turmoil washed over him. As she buried her face in his chest and wept, he gave in. "All right," he said softly. "We will go. I do not wish to see you so unhappy."

After a few minutes, she sniffed and pulled away. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just a nervous wreck. Not being able to get out and all."

"I understand," he assured her, clearing away the last of her tears with a gentle swipe of his thumb. "We will pack tonight and set out at first light. Perhaps we can avoid the majority of the insects that way." He smiled a bit ruefully. "I find the charms of this place dwindling myself. I shall be happy to get back north to our valley and away from these damnable flies!"

Spock so seldom used "colorful metaphors," as he called them, that Christine burst out laughing. Instantly she felt better and fell back into her husband's arms, hugging him gratefully. Still laughing, she answered, "Damn the mosquitos — full speed ahead!"

* * *

The eastern sky had barely begun to show a hint of color when Spock and Christine herded a sleepy Sapel out the door into the dawn chill. They had been up all night, packing their things for the second time that spring, but both were eager to be well away from the coast by the time the warming air launched the plagues of biting flies on them again.

As Spock secured the cabin door, Christine helped her son into his pack. "Where's Scruffy?" Sapel complained.

"Back in her hole, I expect, or maybe out hunting," Christine answered. "Try calling her."

Sapel did so as Spock returned to assist his wife into her backpack. T'Jenn was slung across her front in her leather carry pouch, peacefully asleep at last. It had taken Spock touching the child's mind with a delicate meld before she was soothed, her pain from the erupting tooth numbed, and her exhausted little body eased into slumber.

Spock hefted his own pack onto his shoulders, one much larger and heavier than his wife's, and settled it comfortably. He then donned his bow and quiver, caught up his hunting spear, and looked around for his son. He was nowhere in sight.

"Sapel!" he called. "Why did he wander off just as we were leaving?"

"He's looking for Scruff," Christine responded.

"Sapel!" Spock called again.

There was a scrambling sound from the slope to the right of the cabin and Sapel abruptly appeared, wide awake and grinning.

"Mama! Papa! Look who I found!" he cried.

In his wake two lemurs walked upright into view — a young female and an old bearded male, his ruff gray with age. Picku and Charlie had returned.

* * *

After greetings all around, Spock and Charrr-eek, which was the old lemur's proper name, sat down to talk seriously. Their telepathic conversation, more impressions and emotions than actual words, nevertheless conveyed a depth of knowledge between the two.

// _Glad you not leave yet_ ,// Charlie told the Vulcan, one hand on Spock's arm to enhance communication. // _We come for you, take you back to_...// He projected a mental picture of the Lemurian baobab village where they had spent the fall months while Spock recovered from his near fatal encounter with a cow rhino.

// _Leaving_ ,// Spock assured him, // _but go north to home there_.//

Charrr-eek expressed a tiny bit of agitation. He didn't know where that northern home was, but had picked up from Spock's mind the impression of great distance and danger. There was also concern for Christine and the baby mixed in with it.

The Lemurian healer moved over to touch the woman's arm and the gaze from his great golden eyes bore into hers. // _Not well_ ,// he pronounced to her. He shifted his attention to the infant in her carry sling and laid his hand on the small head. // _Baby sick, too_.//

Christine was instantly alert. // _Sick?! How?_ // she demanded.

Charlie looked back into her eyes. // _Fever start. Still low but high soon. You come to home. Make baby well._ //

That was all Christine needed to hear. "We're going with them, Spock," she said aloud in a tone that would not be brooked. "Charlie says Jenny has a fever."

Spock quickly laid his palm over his daughter's forehead, assessing her condition with a mind probe of his own. After a moment, he nodded. "I fear he is right. Deep down, I sense something not right with her. Very well, we will go with them."

Picku'acka'neech and Sapel had been sitting next to Christine, the Lemurian fascinated by the baby. She had never seen an infant so large and it seemed very strange to her that Christine had no marsupial pouch in which to carry her child. Lemurs were born tiny and half-formed, then went immediately into their mothers' pouches where they completed their gestation over the next six months.

At Charlie's announcement that the human baby was ill, Picku stretched out a gentle hand and stroked the baby sympathetically, sending soothing thoughts.

Sapel touched his friend's shoulder. // _We come_ ,// he thought to her and Picku's whole demeanor brightened.

// _We come for you_ ,// she answered. // _This bad place in new year. Too many bugs_.//

The old lemur stood upright and made a chirping sound that clearly translated to all of them. // _Go now. Flies come soon_.//

He started off in the direction of the headland that rose to the west, invisible at the moment because of the trees but which would rise into view as they cleared the woods. He seemed to take it for granted that the others would follow and didn't look back.

Spock helped Christine to her feet and they strode after the small figure. Picku started to scamper after them, but Sapel hung back, calling, "Scruffy! Where are you?"

// _Come_ ,// Picku urged him.

"I can't leave Scruffy," he protested.

// _Come. They leave us!_ //

"Scruff!" he shouted again but there was no sign of the hunting cat.

Picku pulled on his arm once again. // _Go now!_ // she insisted.

Reluctantly, Sapel allowed himself to be moved and fell into step with the young female, looking frequently back over his shoulder for his pet.

* * *

The boats were standing by in the little cove, almost as if they'd never moved from the previous year, but the attitude of the sailors was different this time. They were tense and armed with long, straight spears, flint-tipped, and were warily watching the bay on the other side of the sandbar that stood between themselves and the open sea. As if to demonstrate the reason for their wariness, a long sinuous neck lifted from the water and moved along the deep channel there for an endless moment, the small eye fixed on the group on the leeward beach. Then it sank once more below the waves and disappeared.

// _Bad time to be here_ ,// Charlie commented to Spock, lightly touching the Vulcan's arm. // _Should have gone before_.//

// _We did_ ,// Spock answered. // _Christine weak from birth. Not walk far_.// He sent a mental synopsis of their aborted trip and the old lemur indicated understanding.

They had reached the woven canoes drawn up onto the sand and began loading, the Lemurians in an obvious hurry to be off. Sapel still hesitated, looking back for any sign at all of Scruffy.

Christine put her arm around his shoulder and told him, "We'll wait as long as we can, but we must go, sweetheart. We have no choice this time. We've got to get Jenny help before she is truly ill. She could die if this fever is really bad."

"I know, Mama," the boy sighed, still scanning the hillside for his pet. "But I don't want to lose her! After Mooch..." His voice choked for a second. "...I couldn't stand it again, Mama!"

She hugged her little son comfortingly, but then Spock joined them. "It's time to go," he said softly, cognizant of his son's distress. "Let me help you, Christine."

Giving Sapel one more squeeze, she went with her husband and allowed him to assist her into the boat she would share with Charlie. T'Jenn whimpered from the carry pouch, then fell asleep once more.

"Sapel?" Spock prodded. The boy didn't move, then sighed again mournfully and got into the second boat with Picku.

Spock boarded a third canoe while their baggage rode in a fourth. Once all was aboard and ready, the Lemurian sailors leapt to their stations, one fore and one aft, and they shoved off, using their long punting poles to maneuver the canoes into the water.

"Wait! Wait!" Sapel cried suddenly and almost vaulted from the boat before one of the Lemurians grabbed him and held him back. Then they saw what had excited the boy.

A little form was tearing down the slope, ears laid back and green eyes wide. Scruffy had discovered her family gone and tracked them, making it just before she was left behind.

The sailors poled the boat back up to the shore, close enough that the cat could scramble on board and into the arms of her young master. There she purred ecstatically. All members now present and accounted for, the little flotilla set off.

* * *

They sailed all day, west by southwest, retracing the route they had taken in the early winter. They stuck to the inland waterway between the long barrier islands and the marshes on shore, twice being forced to halt to avoid hunting plesiosaurs along the inter-island channels. But the sleek sea beasts were only slightly interested in the canoes, being well fed on their natural prey, now abundant in these waters.

The trip was harder on little T'Jenn than any of them. Feverish, irritable from teething and disliking the motion of the boat, she cried and fretted, despite Christine's attempt to soothe her. Charlie was most interested when Christine opened her tunic for the baby to nurse, but the woman felt suddenly self-conscious and covered herself with the leather carry cloth, explaining to the Lemurian healer that this was a private act among her people. Charlie expressed some surprise, as it was as natural an act as breathing to him, but let it go. Things were different, he knew, with the big bipeds.

Traveling along beside the endless miles of marsh and mangrove-like forests, the group was inevitably attacked by insects, but all rubbed the leaves of a spiky, succulent-type plant over their fur and skin. It left a sharp, spicy odor and immediately repelled the insects.

"What is this?" Christine wanted to know, both speaking aloud and sending the accompanying thought to Charlie. She hoped that they could at least learn to understand each other's language, if not actually speak it in return.

// _Ghool-eech plant_ ,// the Lemurian healer answered, making a hooting sound similar to the word he had thought. // _Bug stay off, no bite_.//

Christine sent him the impression of great approval and interest. "I want to learn more," she told him. "I want to study your medicine."

The old lemur's nictitating membranes edged over his huge eyes, displaying his pleasure. // _Great happy teach Crrrr_ ,// he answered, voicing his name-sound for her. // _Learn from you, too_.//

The rapport of the two healers, so different in form but so alike in thought, grew as the day went on, both of them speaking in ever more technical terms as they struggled to share their respective medical knowledge. By the time they turned into the river channel that led to the Lemurian village, Christine and Charlie had begun to converse effortlessly, hardly aware where speech left off and telepathy began.

They were still talking when the boats edged into their native slips and the Lemurian fisherfolk came down to help them unload and welcome the travelers home.

* * *

"Down at last," Christine sighed as she slipped into the sleeping furs where Spock already awaited her. T'Jenn was nearly over her fever and mostly sleeping through the night, thanks to the fever drink that Charlie had supplied. Made from the crushed leaves of a marsh plant, the bittersweet drink had markedly affected the progress of the disease the baby had contracted, cutting its power and duration.

A week had gone by since their arrival in the village of baobab trees, and Spock and Christine had returned to the hollow giant where they had lived the previous fall. Sapel had been granted his own quarters nearby and was feeling quite grown up as a result. The Lemurians themselves dwelt high above in a networked series of huts, walkways and communal buildings constructed in the intertwined branches of the baobab forest.

Unlike his parents, Sapel was agile enough to make the climb up to the village proper, but still had his limitations, not being equipped with four opposable thumbs and a prehensile tail. Still, he soon knew his way around Charlie's family dwellings and was learning all the members of the healer's extended family.

Spock and Christine stayed firmly on solid ground, however. Their erstwhile home was on the edge of the village and was accessed through a large split up one side. It was this split that had caused it to be abandoned by Charlie's family in the first place, for it left the sanctuary open on ground level. The baobabs in use by the lemurs were only accessible from higher up.

Nevertheless, it was a snug and comfortable haven for the couple and their small baby. With Sapel in his own living space, the two were enjoying the first real privacy they'd had in years.

So it was that, after seeing her baby asleep, Christine slipped out of her clothing and settled into her husband's arms, snuggling against him as he enfolded her in his strong embrace. Unspoken but understood between them was that both had this night planned for only each other.

It had been three months since they had last made love, Christine taking a long time to recover from the difficult birth. She knew Spock must be as eager as she to renew their relations and, indeed, he nuzzled and kissed her neck as she sank into his arms.

"Asleep?" he murmured, kissing her ear and jawline.

"Mmmm ... yes. Let's hope she stays that way." Christine moved against her husband's naked body. "How do I taste?" she teased.

"Wonderful," he replied and gently raked her earlobe between his teeth.

Christine laughed softly. "You're really hungry, aren't you?"

"It has been quite some time since I was last able to love you like this," Spock replied, his deep voice a rumble that sent incipient chills over her body. His lips traveled up her throat and found her mouth, drinking her in with controlled but growing thirst. _T'hy'la_ , his mind whispered to hers. _Feel the flame rising within me. I burn for thee, my wife!_

She did feel it, her mental shields inadequate to shut out his mental vitality even had she wanted to. "Mmmm ... nice," she smiled when their kiss broke. "My only concern, though, Spock, is getting pregnant again. Can you tell if I'm..."

"You are not," he responded, teasing her face with his kisses. "There is a subtle difference to the way your skin tastes and smells when you are fertile. I do not detect it now."

"Good," she answered, relaxing completely. "I can't tell. I haven't had a period since Jenny was born and, with her nursing, my system is still messed up."

He stopped and looked at her seriously, gently caressing her cheek. "I would not be continuing our love play had I found you to be fertile, _t'hy'la_. I would never risk impregnating you again so soon after a birth, even if you had not expressed your decision to have no more children." There was a flicker of hurt in his dark eyes that she would think him so uncaring of her.

Christine smiled with a hint of apology and reached to stroke her fingertips down the edge of his ear, something that he always found unbearably erotic. "I know you wouldn't, sweetheart," she answered. Her lashes shaded her blue eyes in a seductive manner and she slid her fingertips along his ear once again, from tip to lobe and felt him shiver involuntarily. "I've missed you so much!" she whispered.

His eyes lost the hurt look and crinkled in amusement. "I have been with you every day," he responded, understanding the game. "How could you miss me?"

"Hmmm, well, maybe I've missed individual parts of you," she answered with a wicked grin.

"That is not logical, my wife," he replied, deliberately obtuse. "If I have been with you, then every part of me has been here, too."

"But I haven't been able to appreciate them the way I usually do," she argued.

"What parts of me have you missed?" he inquired. "My hands?" So saying, he let his big, warm hand slip from her shoulder down to where her swollen breasts were pressed against his chest. He covered one with his palm and massaged it gently, feeling the nipple swell even more as he did so.

"No, not your hands," she managed to say, reveling in the tingling sensation spreading throughout her. "Lower down than that."

"Oh, you must mean my feet then," he replied and she felt his big toe caress the arch of her foot then slide up her ankle and along her calf until finally he slipped his foot over her leg and nudged her closer to him.

"No, no, not your feet," she laughed in delight. "Higher."

"My tongue?" He bent and seized the nipple he'd been fondling, working it gently against the roof of his mouth, then tickling it with the tip of his tongue. She had nursed the baby before coming to bed and thus her breasts were nearly drained, but creamy drops still oozed out as he suckled her and it added to his rapidly increasing arousal.

Christine groaned and almost abandoned their game, then gasped, "No ... lower ... lower than your hands, higher than your feet."

Spock trailed his lips up her chest and throat, swirling his tongue along her skin as he did. "I cannot guess then," he answered breathlessly. "You will have to show me."

She reached a trembling hand between them and grasped the hot, pulsing rod trapped against her stomach. "This!" she moaned. "Your dick! I miss your dick!"

He chose to torture her a little longer. "I'm sorry," he answered as he covered her face with increasingly hungry kisses. "I know of no one here named Dick."

She was pumping him in her fist, loving the way his erection swelled even harder to her touch, the head slick with his leaking lubrication. "Prick! Cock! Pecker! I don't care what you call it as long as you fuck me with it! Now!" She was writhing frantically against him, mad to end their long abstinence.

"Ah ... in that case..." he rumbled deep in his throat and rolled her beneath him. Eagerly she spread her thighs wide and he quickly found his position between them, entering her with a forceful shove of his hips. Crying out, she arched her back up as her body reflexively gripped his solid masculinity, the exhilaration of his full penetration triggering a quick orgasm in her.

He held rigidly still while she quivered in rapture, allowing her to come down slowly from her emotional high. But he didn't let her relax fully. Calculating the right second, he slid his hands underneath her shoulders to steady her and thrust hard into her depths, pausing again at the very pinnacle of his stroke to whisper in her ear, "I call it _hir'kh'ahn_ , by the way ... 'weapon blade'."

So saying, he sheathed himself in her once again and began to move in earnest within her.

* * *

Exhausted for the moment, Spock and Christine lay quietly side by side, drowsily savoring the tingling after effects of their lovemaking. Loosely clasping hands, the warmth and affection of their mind bond still a low hum between them, they listened as the forest village settled down for the night.

After a few minutes, Spock started to rise and Christine tightened her grip on his hand. "Where are you going?"

"To check on Sapel," the Vulcan answered. "I'm still a bit uneasy with him sleeping apart from us."

"Relax," she replied, closing her eyes again. "He's upstairs. I said he could spend the night with the kids."

Spock gave a low grunt of understanding and lay back down beside his wife. The "kids" were some of Charlie's offspring by his various mates, juveniles that included Picku and who were equivalent to Sapel in age. "Upstairs" was the Lemurian village proper, with the extended family of adults, sub-adults, and younger children. Spock had not yet sorted out the tangled web of relationships, but knew that Sapel would be well-chaperoned.

Still, Spock observed, "He spends a great deal of time with them."

"It's the first time he's had friends his own age," Christine answered muzzily. "Let him enjoy it."

"As you say, wife." Spock turned onto his side facing her and gingerly cupped one of her breasts in his palm, gauging her reaction.

She opened one eye and peered passively at him, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips and her nipples hardened in response to his touch. "Are you sure you're not in _pon farr_?" she teased.

"I am sure," he responded in a low, sensuous whisper. "But _shan hal lak_ ... that is another matter altogether."

"Isn't that 'love at first sight'?"

"It means 'engulfment,' actually."

"Whatever. It boils down that you're insatiable," she murmured and rolled into his arms. "Do you plan on keeping this up all night long?" She gave her pelvis a little shove to emphasize that "this" was the delightful heat beginning to pulse against her groin.

"Hmmm ... that is a distinct possibility, my wife," he smiled. "A Vulcan may stay celibate for many weeks, but there is a price to be paid for that celibacy."

"Then I suppose I'd better get back to work, paying off my debt," she sighed happily and melted into his embrace, bringing her lips up to his.

* * *

What Sapel had come to think of as "the gang" consisted of Picku and four of her sibs, some a bit older and some younger than herself. The leader was her half-brother Chuk'wu'jok'won, a burly young male on the verge of adolescence, confident, cocky and probably destined to become alpha in the kin-group once he was grown. Chuk and Sapel had hit it off immediately, a healthy amount of rivalry fueling their friendship. The other three lemurs were Tjin'juk'char'ool, dubbed "Ginger", a full sister to Chuk, P'Kan'u'lok, a half-brother younger than these two, and finally Leek'a'cheeq'ooh, a full sister to Picku by one of their father's junior mates.

The siblings were close emotionally and, as was common with their people, slept together in a tumbled pile of creamy fur and intertwined tails, male and female together. There was no suggestion of sexual contact, for the juveniles had yet to develop any secondary sexual characteristics other than the fact that the females had belly pouches and the males did not. Genitals were recessed in both genders and mammaries on the females were concealed in their pouches, thus making the beings seem almost neuter in appearance.

Chuk, however, was maturing and beginning to feel his maleness, something he found that he shared with Sapel. He also discovered that they had a mutual interest in the secret world of adult mating and, because it was a subject forbidden to them, that made it all the more tantalizing.

This evening, the boys huddled together, P'Kan listening in with horrified fascination, while the girls sat disapprovingly nearby. With all the youngsters being naturally telepathic, the conversation flowed effortlessly between them.

"Then he puts it in her," Sapel revealed with triumphant relish.

// _Anytime he wants to?_// Chuk demanded, disbelieving.

"Anytime she'll _let_ him," Sapel confirmed.

There was a general expression of disgust all around, tempered with a buzz of prohibited knowledge.

// _I don't believe people actually do that_ ,// Ginger stated.

"My parents do!" Sapel asserted. "I've seen 'em do it!" He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "I bet they're doin' it right now!"

That brought a fresh burst of revulsion then, not to be outdone, Chuk spoke up. // _I know where Ch'k'pu do it like that_ ,// he said, using the name the Lemurians called their race.

// _You do not!_ // Picku declared angrily.

// _You've never been to Teeli country, have you?_ // the male answered smugly.

Picku's pupils were dilated hugely. // _You haven't either_.//

// _You can think that_ ,// her brother retorted.

The female was practically jittering. // _I will tell Father_.//

// _And let him know you were talking about this?_ // Chuk responded. Picku shut up, sitting back sullenly.

// _So? What about the Teeli?_ // demanded P'Kan of his half-sib . // _What do they do?_ //

// _They live in trees they make themselves and wear things that are shiny that they make with fire_ ,// Chuk answered, holding their full attention now. // _They eat the hill animals and anything else they can kill. And the males and females mate anytime they want to, whether the Feasting Time has come or not_.//

// _I don't believe you_ ,// P'Kan retorted crossly. _//I think you're making it all up. Nobody does things like that_.//

// _The Teeli do! I can prove it!_ // Chuk answered.

// _How?_ //

Chuk hesitated for a second then declared, // _I can take you there and show you. I know the way._ //

Picku and Ginger shot upright, their tails whipping in agitation. // _What? What are you saying, Chuk'wu'jok'won?_ // they demanded. // _It's forbidden!! You'll be killed if you go there! You know what the Teeli do to Teela'u!_ //

But the young male had his pride on the line now. // _That's just rumors_ ,// he asserted. // _I'll go just to show you I'm not a coward like you are! Who is brave enough to come, too?_ //

"Me!" Sapel spoke up at once, intrigued now by these strange creatures, the Teeli. He had to see them for himself.

// _Me_ ,// P'Kan told his brother. // _I'll go with you_.//

The boys all turned and stared challengingly at the girls. Little Leek'a, who hadn't understood most of what the others had been discussing, piped up, // _I want to go!_ //

// _No!_ // Picku snapped. // _You're too small, Leek'a_.//

// _I am brave but not crazy_ ,// Ginger stated. // _And I won't be punished by Father, either. You are all going to be in big trouble from this!_ //

Chuk sent his sister a particularly rude image. // _Coward! Storybringer! Cheat!_ //

Ginger bristled and her pupils dilated in anger. // _Take that back!_ //

// _Won't!_ //

While the two siblings quarreled, Picku appealed to her Vulcan friend. // _Sapel, don't go! They will kill you! They hate us!_ //

"I want to go, Picku," the boy answered, his own male pride preventing him now from backing down. "Anyway, we'll be careful. We're just going to take a look then we'll come right back. I promise."

She hesitated uncertainly then said, // _Then I'm coming with you. I don't want you to go there without someone to watch your back. I don't trust my brothers to do that. They're too foolish_.//

// _I heard that, Picku'acka'neech_ ,// Chuk broke in. // _I'm tired of arguing. I'm going now. Anyone who's coming with me, let's go now!_ //

So saying, the young male marched out of the sleeping hut, with P'Kan, Picku and Sapel close behind, disappearing into the darkness as if they'd never existed. Behind them, Ginger clutched Leek'a close to her chest and listened to them go, her teeth chattering with fear.

* * *

Christine looked up from her place within the circle of mothers to see Spock striding toward her through the quiet bustle of dawn activities. She could not suppress a smile, for he was back to being the vital, virile husband she knew so well. Tall and slim as ever, but more muscular than she'd known him on the _Enterprise_ , he was clad in fringed and beaded buckskins, high moccasins reaching half-way up his lanky shins, his long raven hair rippling loose around his shoulders. Christine felt her heart thud harder at the sight of him and the memory of their night of passion sent a pulse of arousal through her.

He must have felt it through their bond, because his lips twitched into a quick little smile as he reached her, but he quickly became serious again.

"Have you seen Sapel this morning?" Spock asked his wife.

"No, but he's around here somewhere, I imagine," Christine replied. She was sitting cross‑legged with several Lemurian females, all of them nursing their babies. They had been enthralled by the fact that the tall biped's mammaries were on her chest and were extremely bulbous. Their own nipples lay hidden within their pouches where their infants stayed for about a year after birth. Still, the action was the same and little T'Jenn's suckling was soon accepted by the other mothers as a common link between themselves and Christine.

The human woman now looked up curiously at her tall mate. "He's probably just sleeping late. You know there is never any slumber at a slumber party."

Spock crossed his arms over his chest and his brows rose delicately. "Vulcans do not have 'slumber parties', so I would not know whether any sleep occurs or not."

Christine pulled her mouth into an exasperated expression for a moment, then replied, "Well, take it from me. Kids don't sleep at slumber parties. They stay up all night talking."

"Then why are they called—"

"I don't know!" she interrupted before he could start a rhetorical argument. "Anyway, don't worry about Sapel. He'll show up sooner or later. When he does, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"Please do," Spock answered with a hint of irritation evident in his voice. "I had intended to take him hunting with me, but the morning is slipping by too fast to wait on him."

"Then just go on and do your hunt. I doubt that he'll appear anytime soon. I'll keep an eye out for him," she assured her husband. "Anyway, I have a feeling that the last thing you need on a hunt is a sleepy, cranky, whiny child."

"Undoubtedly true," Spock conceded. "Very well. I hope to be back by mid-afternoon if all goes well."

"Just be careful, honey," Christine replied and reached her fingers up toward him.

Spock touched his fingertips to hers, saying all he needed to say through their mental bond. Then he turned and went to retrieve his bow and spear from their baobab tree house.

* * *

It had taken longer to reach the outskirts of Teeli territory than Chuk had planned. It was all Sapel's fault, too, simply because the Vulcan boy was not as agile or arboreal as the Lemurians were. He had slowed them on their travel here and that had irritated the young male, already burdened with the growing conviction that this entire venture was a mistake.

Still, the little group was at the border by dawn, staring across the little creek that divided the two clan-nations. All they saw was a continuation of the woodlands, identical to what they had just traversed. Nowhere could they see the promised Teeli monstrosities or wonders.

They paused to rest while Chuk peered intently across the way. After a while, P'Kan complained, // _I don't see any Teeli! I knew you were lying!_ //

Chuk turned to face him, his visage fierce. // _Quiet! They'll hear you! They're there, all right. They patrol all the time_.//

Picku was shivering and pressed close to Sapel. // _Let's go back now, Chuk'wu'jok'won. Maybe we can get home before they miss us_.//

// _Go back then!_ // Chuk ground out. // _I'm going over the creek. You pouch-babies can stay here!_ //

"I'm going, too," Sapel whispered resolutely.

// _Me, too_ ,// P'Kan affirmed. He would not allow his older sib to outshine him. His mother was a lower ranked wife and Chuk had always acted superior as a result. Now the younger male was determined to more than match his bravery.

Picku chattered her teeth then gave in. // _Then let's go and get out_ ,// she said.

Chuk fluffed his cheek fur out smugly, showing off the bare beginnings of a ruff, then turned his attention back to the enemy territory.

All was quiet and he prepared to move but first warned them all, _//Stay absolutely quiet. Stick close to me and follow my orders. Once we cross that creek, we're no longer in Teela'u territory. If the Teeli catch us, they'll KILL us! Is that clear?_ // The other three nodded solemnly. // _Okay, let's go. Quiet and careful!_ //

Chuk descended the rough, gnarled trunk of their lookout tree, Sapel coming last and with more difficulty. When they were all on the ground, the older male led them to the brush bordering the creek, then hesitated for several minutes, listening with intense concentration.

Then he started forward again, wading through the shallow water with his three cohorts in tow. They went with measured haste, eager to get across the exposed area, but careful to splash as little as possible. Once across, all four sank into the brush and hunkered down for some while, listening for danger.

But the woods were quiet except for birdsong and the soft trickle of water behind them. When they were sure that no Teeli patrols were near, the youngsters set out again, four shadows moving silently across the dappled woodland floor.

* * *

When Spock returned in early afternoon, bearing a brace of hill hares, he found Christine on the lookout for him, barely controlling her worry. With T'Jenn cradled against her shoulder asleep, Christine went to meet her tall husband as soon as she spotted him coming into the village.

"Spock, I can't find him," she announced without preamble.

"You have checked with the clan-wives?" he asked.

"Of course. It's the first thing I did when Sapel seemed to be gone too long." She blinked back the frantic tears that hovered in her eyes. "I'd ask Charlie but he's not here in the village. He's gone down river to tend a patient of his."

"Have the wives seen their own children?"

Christine shook her head. "Some of them haven't been around this morning either. Picku's gone, too, and you know how she and Sapel—"

"Yes." Spock put a hand on his wife's shoulder and gently steered her toward their quarters, seeing that she was near her breaking point. "Come, let me put these things down and then I will attempt to locate him or at least someone who may have seen him. I suspect that there is little cause for alarm. He is experiencing a flush of independence at the moment and may simply be so involved with his friends that he has forgotten to check in with us."

"If he's out gallivanting, I am going to tan his behind for worrying me like this!" Christine vowed tearfully.

Spock didn't answer, but ducked as they squeezed through the slit in the baobab's gray trunk and into their living area. There, the Vulcan set his bow, quiver and spear in their places and laid the hares down by the hearth.

"First, let me see if I can reach him," Spock said. "Unless he has his mental shields fully raised, he should hear my summons."

"I hope so," Christine answered, shifting T'Jenn to her other shoulder.

Spock closed his eyes and reached out mentally to his son. // _Sapel_ ,// he Sent, allowing his mind to expand outward in search. There was no answer. He tried again. // _Sapel — hear me_.//

The reply nearly staggered him with its force and level of fear.

// _Papa!_ // Sapel's mind screamed back at him. // _Papa, help!!_ // Then nothing came through except abject terror.

* * *

The four explorers had made their stealthy advance about a mile into Teeli country before they came upon a village and here they concealed themselves to watch the activity. There didn't appear to be much difference between the Teeli and the Teela'u except that the strangers seemed to live their lives on the ground rather than the trees. There were a number of females with young, both in and out of pouches, going about their business here, chatting among themselves as they gathered under the trees, involved in the early stages of food preparation.

// _They don't look so different to me_ ,// P'Kan said with a soft chirp to his brother.

// _Look closer_ ,// Chuk answered, equally soft. // _Look at their trees. They're not natural_.//

Now that he mentioned it, they all could see that the gray boles of the baobabs did not look right. They were too smooth, too symmetrical, and there appeared to be head-high mounds next to most of the trees, the same color gray and displaying the same artificial look.

// _They build them out of clay from the river_ ,// Chuk informed his companions. // _Those mounds are more tree-rooms where they put things_.//

"What things?" Sapel whispered.

Chuk's back fur rippled, the equivalent of a shrug. // _Things_ ,// he answered. // _I told you, they've got things we don't have_.//

The youngsters turned their attention back to the Teeli females. They were processing bowls of green pods, their nimble fingers working lightning fast to separate seeds from hulls, the seeds dropping into bowls in their laps while the hulls were tossed into a central pile.

After a while, P'Kan grew bored and murmured, // _So, where is all the mating?_ // he inquired snidely.

His older sib glared at him. // _They don't do it in the middle of the village, pond slug_ ,// he answered scornfully.

// _Then how do you know they do it at all?_ //

// _Because I saw them_ ,// Chuk hissed back.

// _Quiet!_ // Picku ordered in a fearful whine, her golden eyes huge.

All of them made themselves small and motionless, for two large males had entered the area where the females were working. The Lemurian youngsters stared in amazement because the males were obviously guards. They were bigger than any lemur they'd ever seen and, moreover, stood fully upright, walking with a comfortable bipedal gait. Both carried spears with gleaming tips such as the Teela'u and Vulcan boy had never seen, and both were adorned with discs of the gleaming substance somehow attached to the fur of their chests.

Both guards stood and chatted amiably with the females, who offered them handfuls of the seeds they'd shelled. One female was especially bold, standing up and slipping a seed into the biggest male's mouth, her tail swishing coyly. The male chewed happily, all the time holding the female's gaze with his own. After he swallowed, he leaned over and licked the female's nose lightly and, most shocking of all, his hidden genitals peeked through his fur, a sign of his sexual arousal.

Picku gasped involuntarily and instantly shut up.

The guard flicked an ear as if batting at a fly, but did not seem to have heard the soft little noise. He and his partner spent a few more minutes munching seeds and flirting with the females, then they sauntered away through the village and out of sight.

The Teela'u relaxed and quietly let out their breaths. // _That was too close_ ,// Chuk said.

P'Kan turned to their sister and scolded, // _You almost got us caught, Picku'acka'neech. Why didn't you stay quiet?_ //

// _I'm sorry_ ,// she stammered. // _But you could see his_...// She flashed a thought at them then curled her face into her chest in mortification.

// _I TOLD you_ —// Chuk began then broke off with a start.

Something cold and sharp had poked him in the spine, something too dreadful for words.

Their hearts pounding wildly, the young explorers twisted and, with trepidation, looked up at the towering figures of the Teeli guards and their gleaming spear points.

* * *

Ginger crouched on her haunches, making herself as small as she could in the surrounding circle of angry adults. Spock and Christine stood just outside that circle, allowing Charlie and the clan-wives to conduct the interrogation, but listening closely.

Charlie was the main one questioning his daughter, with her mother, Juk'jee'ch'kan, an aristocratic buff-colored female, at his side.

// _You knew where they were going and you didn't tell us?_ // Char-eek demanded.

Ginger squirmed. // _I thought they'd all be frightened and come back before they actually did anything,_ // she answered, trembling. // _I didn't want to get them in trouble_.//

// _Well, they ARE in trouble!_ // Charlie shot back, his fur standing out in agitation. // _They are in DEEP trouble!_ //

Ginger sank even smaller and whimpered. // _I'm sorry_ ,// she whispered.

// _You know how Chuk'wu'jok'won is_ ,// her mother interjected. // _He has not yet learned courage from foolishness_.//

// _I know_ ,// Ginger nodded, eyes on the ground.

Charlie turned to his senior mate. // _Juk-wife, I turn our child over to your discipline_.//

// _Yes, Char-husband. Tjin'juk'char'ool — come with me!_ // The female's sharp, teeth‑snapping command jarred them all as the female stalked away, her daughter following after as if to her doom.

Once they were gone, the other two wives whose children were missing turned in agitation to their husband. He hushed them with a clipped comment. // _Silence! There is nothing to be done except to go into Teeli country and find them_ ,// Charlie said. // _I will take Lich'te and Ta'Tak with me_.//

"And myself," Spock interrupted, stepping forward. "My son is with them, too."

Charlie looked up at him as if to protest, then bowed his head in assent. // _Gather your weapons_ ,// the old lemur instructed. // _We leave as soon as you are ready_.//

* * *

Spock slipped a small waterbag over his head and settled the strap on his shoulder, opposite the cord of his quiver, adjusted his bow and then caught up his hunting spear. As always, his Romulan steel hunting knife hung in its sheath from his belt. His expression grim and determined, he turned to Christine, her fear plainly written on her features.

"Bring him back, Spock," she said in a low voice, tears threatening to fall. T'Jenn picked up her mother's mood and whimpered in response.

"I will," he assured her firmly, trailing his fingertips down her cheek.

She crushed his hand against her face and held it there, eyes closed. When she opened them, the blue depths swam with unshed liquid. "And bring yourself back to me, too," she whispered.

Caressing her face tenderly, he took a long moment to gaze deep into her eyes, saying silently what could not be expressed in words. Then he took her in his arms, mindful of their tiny daughter between them, and kissed her with passion and fire. Christine moaned and sank against him, desperate to keep him with her just a little longer, but then T'Jenn cried in protest and her parents broke their kiss and backed off.

"I love you," Christine stated.

" _T'ach'la, i'aduna_ ," he murmured back, still intent on her gaze. After a minute he looked down at the child his wife cradled and rested his palm on the baby's head. In response, T'Jenn looked up directly into her father's dark eyes and the two seemed to share a few seconds of silent rapport.

Spock turned his attention back to Christine and leaned to kiss her one more time. "I will be back as soon as I can," he said then ducked out of their quarters and was gone.

"Be careful," Christine whispered after him. "But, oh, please, Spock — bring our baby back!"

* * *

It didn't take long for the rescue party to track the missing youngsters to the place where they had crossed the creek. There were scuff marks in the mud on both banks. Without hesitation, the Vulcan and three Teela'u waded in and were soon through the shin-deep water.

Once on the other side, Ta'Tak kept a wary eye out for patrols while Spock, Charlie and Lich'te trailed the children. They soon found where they had crouched in the bushes outside the village and then their trail was joined by another, that of two adult lemurs. Then the entire group had gone into the village proper.

That posed a problem and the searchers shrank back to discuss the issue, careful to keep their conversation on a telepathic level.

// _What now?_ // Ta'Tak asked.

// _They must have been taken by the guards_ ,// Charlie mused. // _But where?_ //

// _I will find out_ ,// Spock said in an almost casual manner, although his expression held a grimness that the Teela'u did not perceive.

// _How?_ // questioned Lich'te.

Spock's brows lifted slightly. // _I will ask_ ,// he replied and rose to his feet before the others could stop him.

Without further ado, the tall Vulcan pushed his way through the bushes and stepped out into the clear space beyond, making no effort to conceal himself.

Pandemonium erupted among the Teeli, the females shrieking in alarm at the sudden appearance of a creature such as they had never seen, and they began snatching up their children and fleeing into their houses in terror.

Spock walked a few more paces away from the woods, but did nothing threatening. As he expected, within minutes armed guards came running. He was mildly surprised at their fully upright stance and bipedal gait. They displayed none of the tendency of the Teela'u toward quadrupedal motion or the bouncing run of the young. Either these lemuroids were more evolved physically than their neighbors or they had become completely accustomed to erect posture.

But what astonished Spock the most was the tips of the spears the guards held on him as they surrounded him. The spearpoints were copper! Moreover, they all wore disks of beaten copper on their chests, apparently badges of authority or rank.

The implications staggered Spock for a moment — these people were mining and smelting metal! Nowhere had he seen any sign of worked metal among Charlie's people. Their most advanced technology was weaving fishing nets and carving harpoons and fish hooks from bone.

His thoughts were abruptly jarred back to the present when a burly Teeli male wearing a distinct air of authority arrived. He directed a comment at Spock, but the Vulcan did not understand him. However, making sure not to move in any way that might be interpreted as aggressive, Spock lifted his hands into plain sight and Sent a thought directly to the captain of the guard. // _Touch ... talk_ ,// he said.

The captain's pupils widened fractionally in his large yellow eyes, then he stepped forward, closer to the stranger. Spock held out his hand, palm outward, and after a moment of hesitation, the Teeli touched his palm to Spock's.

It was as if a light had been switched on in a dark room and the two found clear communication between them.

// _Who are you?_ // the captain demanded. // _What do you want?_ //

// _I am called Spock. I come seeking a group of lost children. One of them is my son. The others are Teela'u_.//

Anger shimmered through the link. // _I know them. They were caught spying and were taken to the holding in Chika._ //

// _What is that?_ // Spock questioned.

// _The city of the High Ones_ ,// the captain answered sharply. // _If you seek them there, you will not find them. We do not deal gently with Teela'u on our land_.//

// _My son is not Teela'u_ ,// Spock answered. // _As I am sure you are aware. But I intend to retrieve them all in any case_.//

Before anything more could be said, there was a commotion in the bushes and guards appeared, herding Spock's companions ahead of them.

// _More!_ // the captain sputtered. // _This is intolerable!_ //

// _I seek my sons and daughter whom you have taken_ ,// Charlie stated with dignity. // _Take me to them_.//

// _We will, indeed_ ,// the guard captain responded icily. He motioned to his subordinates. // _Bind them and take them to Chika for judgment_.//

* * *

Christine looked up as Juk'jee, the beautiful senior wife of Char-eek's household, joined her. The Teela'u female was middle-aged by her people's standards, poised and used to wielding authority. She impressed Christine with her aura of serenity and power, making the Human woman wonder if Juk'jee wouldn't make a formidable admiral in Starfleet, should things be different. But now the Lemurian approached her merely as another worried mother and settled onto the spread blanket on which Christine sat, little T'Jenn asleep in her arms.

// _I would hold baby?_ // Juk'jee asked, her golden eyes soft with maternal instinct. Christine hesitated a bare instant then handed her child over into the lithe, gentle embrace of other female. Juk'jee took a moment to adjust her hold to the way she'd observed Christine cradling the infant, then settled into the almost boneless posture that was common among the lemurs. T'Jenn fretted for a second then fell back asleep, secure in the affection that surrounded her.

// _Your baby big_ ,// Juk'jee commented.

"Yes, very big," Christine answered. "So big I wondered if I would be able to get her out. It was a hard time."

Juk'jee made a soft, low sound in her throat. // _You different from us. Our babies very small. No trouble_.//

The two women talked quietly for a while, then Juk'jee looked away wistfully, her eyes seeming to scan far away. // _Your son like mine. Very impulsive. Brave but fool hardy_.//

"Yes, he is," Christine sighed. "Sapel is a remarkable boy. Very much like his father." She could feel Juk'jee's anxiety building and leaned to touch the lemur's arm lightly. "Spock and Charlie will find them. They will bring them home safely."

Juk'jee turned her huge golden eyes full on Christine. // _I hope. I pray the Maker of Things will it so. But, Crr'sta, they go into land of death. I very afraid they not come back_.//

Fear clutched Christine's heart at her words but she made herself pat the other's arm reassuringly. "They'll come back. I know it. I believe it!" But despite herself, she found herself adding, "I have to believe it. I have to."

* * *

The walk into Chika was long and tiring to the captives. Disarmed and with their wrists bound before them, they were marched for over an hour through a gradually climbing wood toward a cliffside that Spock could see now and then through the trees. The pace was not grueling but the Teela'u prisoners found it hard to maintain, unused to walking so far in a completely upright stance. For Spock, he was forced to temper his long-legged stride to one more suited to his captors. The tallest of them barely came to his shoulder and their short legs required his gait to conform to theirs, something the tall Vulcan found frustrating.

At last the trees fell away and they found themselves at the base of the cliff that rose up into the clear blue sky. The cliff face was rough, slashed with overhangs and, in each one, a cluster of simple mud-brick dwellings clung like impossibly huge mud dauber nests. Ladders, runways and hoists joined all the dwellings together, the lemuroid inhabitants turning out to view the arrival of the second batch of strangers in as many days.

Spock stopped and craned his head back in amazement. This was a full-blown, advanced civilization, at the very least on a Neolithic level and probably well on its way to its own version of Bronze Age accomplishments. Considering that this was a totally alien civilization, there was no telling how such a find might fit into Radford's Universal Scale of Technology, taught throughout the Federation. The archaeologists would have a field day.

Indeed, Spock's innate sense of scientific curiosity momentarily made him forget his mission here and his current circumstances. He wanted to settle in and spend a few years studying this culture and their astounding achievements. Why, the papers he could write here—

A sharp poke in his buttocks brought him harshly back to reality. His guard was prodding him forward again.

"Where are we going?" Spock demanded, sending the question telepathically as well.

// _Up_ ,// the guard answered. // _To the High Place_.//

Spock looked upward once again but could not see their ultimate destination. Submitting to his guard, he started forward once more, wondering how they were going to scale the hundred foot cliff that confronted them.

He soon got his answer. A rudimentary elevator system was in place, lifting the guards and their prisoners by a series of stages until they eventually reached the flat tableland of the cliff top. What they found staggered all of the newcomers.

Something like an earthen mound or platform crowned the clifftop and on that rested a squat ziggurat or low stepped pyramid, constructed of reddish cut stone. It was not very large but it was as technologically advanced to these people as transwarp drive was to the Federation. Again Spock mentally calculated the equivalent in Human history that would match it ... the Mississippian mound builders of North America, the Sumerian culture of the Persian Gulf region, maybe even the first attempts by the Egyptians at small pyramids. His mind skittered around the fact that non-humanoids had done this, trying to place these lithe, soft-looking sentients as the builders of this structure and failing to fully grasp it.

The disassociation grew even more vast. As they drew closer to the ziggurat, Spock could see that the stone was carved, covered with esoteric art forms never imagined by Human or Vulcan. This was purely of this world, created by the lemuroid mind. The effect was significantly abstract, somehow crude and yet sophisticated at the same time, putting him in mind of the petroglyphs of Pyo on his own home planet, rock carvings left by a long forgotten Vulcan people, lost forever in time.

At the base of the foundation mound, the guards abruptly halted them. Spock's guard motioned him toward a long ramp leading up to the ziggurat, but Charlie, Ta'Tak and Lich'te were herded in another direction.

"Wait!" Spock protested. "Why are you separating us? Where are you taking them?"

// _You are summoned_ ,// the guard replied, urging the Vulcan on with the persuasive point of his spear. // _Teela'u are not wanted_.//

The prisoners were already out of sight and Spock had no choice but to comply.

* * *

Their assent led them up two more levels to the very top of the ziggurat. This appeared to be part temple and part dwelling and Spock immediately knew that this must be home to the leader of the Teeli, perhaps a priest-king. The building was not large by Human standards, but was beautifully made, the red stones carved all over with the strange symbols that looked to be more than just decorative. Spock's analytical mind quickly identified hieroglyphs that might have served as the precursors of an alphabet, as well as depictions of astronomical symbols. He picked out sun signs and what could only be the phases of Terra Two's three small moons.

The more Spock learned of the Teeli, the more intrigued he became. This was a surprisingly advanced civilization and he couldn't help but wonder what else he would discover here. Again, he came close to forgetting his purpose here, the rescue of his son and the Teela'u children.

His guard herded him up onto the platform that held the temple/home and toward a wide doorway. He noted that there were no hard edges anywhere. All the angles had been smoothed and rounded into an eloquent shape, around which the wind sang softly. He had to duck as he went through the opening, its dimensions having been shaped for a people a foot shorter than he. Inside was cool and pleasant, the floor scattered with an abundance of cushions and low carved stools made to fit a softer, more supple body than his own. The walls were painted with more of the hieroglyphs and what might be interpreted as a creation story, if he read it right. He might be totally wrong, however. This would take more study.

But then Spock's gaze was drawn to a small figure curled on a cushion by the opposite wall. It had been so still that he'd almost missed it in his awed scrutiny. But then the figure rose and moved toward him.

It was an elderly lemur, almost ancient, frail and moving with slow grace. Its fur had grayed all over to a creamy white, but its huge golden eyes were alive with purpose. The old lemur was dressed in a significant amount of gold jewelry, rings piercing through its ears, chains and armbands and anklets glittering in the soft light. Even its tail was adorned with golden bands. On its head was a cap of gold and from this rose a crest of bright gold and white bird feathers, forming an array like sun rays.

The guard with Spock immediately abased himself, crouching and covering his face with his hands and Spock, recognizing royalty when he saw it, likewise knelt down on one knee and bowed in reverence.

The old lemur came to stand before him and then, as Spock looked up, the ancient one suddenly seized the Vulcan's face between his hands and pressed his forehead up against Spock's, the huge golden eyes boring deep into the man's startled brown ones. With a jolt, Spock realized that the old one was invading his mind and he instinctively threw his mental shields up to ward off the intrusion. It was to no avail. The lemur's mind was too powerful and he punched into Spock's psyche with ease.

It lasted no more than a minute then the ancient lemur priest pulled out and stepped back, seeming to assimilate the information he had gained. Then he did something amazing. In accented but passable English, he said, "Welcome to my home, Spock of Vulcan. I am Su'a."

Spock's brows shot up and his mouth fell open in utter shock. "You speak English!" he stuttered.

Su'a peered at him mildly. " _Stiriben'i Vuhlkansu'si_ ," he said in fluent Vulcan, then switched back to English Standard. "Or I can speak any language that you speak."

"How is this possible?" Spock demanded, still too startled to fully comprehend this new development.

The ancient priest turned and settled back into his nest of cushions. When he was comfortable, he answered, "Do you not know? It is our minds conversing. If you know a language, then I know it as well."

Spock swallowed and wondered what else Su'a had gleaned from the quick mind meld.

"Many things," Su'a replied nonchalantly. "Sit. We will talk. You are hungry and tired."

The ancient one turned and spoke quickly in Teeli. An assistant appeared instantly and bowed himself, then disappeared to do the priest-king's will. Spock was beginning to regain his equilibrium and raised his shields to their fullest extent, hoping he could block Su'a's access to his mind. The Lemurian didn't respond but Spock could not be sure if his attempt was successful or if Su'a was merely humoring him. His instinct told him that the little being was extraordinarily dangerous.

Once Spock had seated himself cross-legged on a cushion, servants appeared bearing platters of food and drink, setting them on the stone floor before the Vulcan. There was a variety of fruits, breads and, amazingly, cheeses. Involuntarily, Spock's mouth watered. He hadn't tasted cheese since he and Christine had been marooned on this planet over seven years before.

Still, he hesitated, not knowing the intent of his host. Su'a lifted a delicate hand and gestured. "It is safe. Eat. I sense your need for food."

Eyeing him speculatively, Spock picked up a chunk of fruit and popped it into his mouth. The flavor burst sweetly against his tongue, almost too sweet, prompting him to reach for a piece of the biscuit-like bread. The nutty flavor of that reminded him of _kreyla_ , which he had eaten at home, fresh from his mother's kitchen. Next he tried one of the crumbs of white cheese and found it tart and creamy. The flavor varieties seemed to accentuate Spock's hunger and he gave into it, reasoning that starving himself was not logical.

"You are not eating?" he asked the priest.

"My needs are very limited," Su'a replied. "I dine at morning rite. It is all I require."

Spock did not reply but finished the food before him, then quickly sucked the fruit juices from his fingers. There were no napkins or utensils and he had more than once observed the Teela'u licking their hands clean like cats. He wouldn't go that far, but it seemed the accepted custom here.

Su'a's nictitating membranes flicked across his eyes in humor and he spoke a word. Immediately, a servant appeared and knelt before Spock with a bowl of water and a cloth. "We are not barbarians here," the priest said. "Please, clean your hands as you are accustomed to doing then we will talk. We have much to say regarding your mission here to our land."

Spock's apprehension returned full force, but he gave his attention for a moment to washing his hands then drying them on the cloth. It was of a fine weave, very much like linen, and he noticed that the servant was wearing a little apron of the same white fabric. It seemed more for the purpose of caste identification than apparel. The soft fur that covered the Lemurians' bodies precluded the need for actual clothing, but decoration and status were nearly universal concepts.

As the servant rose to take the bowl and towel away, Su'a spoke briefly again and the servant bowed then left silently. Su'a turned back to Spock. "Now, let us talk. You interest me. Tell me of yourself."

"First things first," the Vulcan answered. "Where is my son?"

"Do not be concerned," the Teeli replied. "He has not been harmed. I have already sent for him. He should be here shortly."

"And the others?"

Su'a gestured in an almost Human manner. "No. I want to talk about you now. Tell me of your home."

Spock responded cautiously. "We come from the north country, many days' journey—"

"No, no!" Su'a interrupted. "Your home planet! I know you are not of Skarda'shah."

Spock barely contained his surprise but managed to answer, "Is that what you call this world?"

"It is our name for it," Su'a confirmed.

"We call it Terra Two," Spock said.

"We? You and your son?"

"And my wife. My mate."

"Ah, and how many more of you are there?" Su'a inquired. "You have a village there? A settlement in the north?"

It was a clever tactic, one that could either be simple curiosity or probing for numbers. Spock decided that there was no point in attempting to deceive the acute priest. "There are only four of us," he answered. "My wife and I, our son and our baby daughter. No more."

"And where are your wife and daughter?"

"They are in the Teela'u village," Spock responded. "Where I intend to return as soon as you release those who came with me and their children."

"Why do you live with such as those?" Su'a asked, ignoring Spock's last comment.

"They are our friends," the man answered.

"You have very poor taste in friends," the priest retorted. "Do you not realize that they are savages?"

"They saved my life," Spock responded stubbornly. "They took us in and shared all they had with us."

"You are very fortunate that they did not kill you. They live like animals and practice unspeakable rites against the Mother."

"I saw no evidence of this," Spock argued. "Our experience has been that of gentle, friendly people."

"They are dirty and illiterate, fit only for labor."

Spock could see that this argument would be endless. "Why do you hate them so?" he asked, genuinely curious.

The priest-king sat back into his cushions. "I see that you have been taken in by their tricks. They are not the pure aboriginals that you seem to think. For many years the Teela'u have plagued us, raiding our border villages, killing our people, and committing atrocities on those they captured. They are a danger and a nuisance. Fortunately, we have managed to progress eastward despite them."

"I find this hard to believe," Spock answered. "They seem a peaceful people. That is what we have observed, in any case."

"But you are a stranger here," Su'a pointed out. "I have observed them for the bulk of my life. Each time we move further eastward, we must contend with attacks and hostility. They do not understand that we have a right to be here! Our claim on this land is ordained by the Mother!"

Revelation dawned. It was an old historical pattern, played out for eons on countless worlds. "Ah!" Spock said. "I think I see now. Your people move into Teela'u territory and they object to the incursion. That is the basis for you enmity."

"You _do_ understand," Su'a replied.

"I understand _your_ viewpoint, but I also understand theirs. You are evicting them from their homes and lands. It is little wonder that they react in a warlike manner."

"An intelligent people would accept the benefits we offer," Su'a stated. "They cannot see that we are superior in all things and would improve their lives."

"On the contrary. They are content with their own way of life. They have no wish to adopt yours."

Su'a was beginning to show signs of irritation. "The land is ours. We will take it."

Spock tried another approach. "I have been to the lands in the east. There is nothing there worth taking. It is swamp and not much else."

"It is ours," Su'a responded firmly. "Our population grows and we must have it. The Teela'u are of no consequence."

At that moment, there was a disturbance and a dark-haired boy burst through the curtains, launching himself into Spock's arms. "Papa!!" he cried, throwing his arms around his father's neck, hugging him fiercely.

Spock embraced his son with profound relief, for a moment all of his attention focused on Sapel's return. Then, he loosened his hold a bit so that he could once more address the ancient Lemurian. "Thank you for returning my son to me," he said solemnly. "Now, if you would please release the others, we will go back and not disturb you again."

"I'm afraid that is not possible," Su'a answered. "You will stay here and await the coming of your wife and daughter. I have sent to have them brought here. As for the Teela'u ... that is being dealt with even as we speak."

* * *

Humming an ancient lullaby, Christine gently settled her baby girl onto the bed of furs, tucking a rabbit pelt around her. It was early evening and the sounds of last meal being prepared, of children at play and of neighbors chattering softly filtered in from outside the baobab's snug interior. Christine had spent a worrisome day, anxious to hear from her husband and son, but knew that it would likely be tomorrow before they returned. She stubbornly made herself think _when_ they returned, not _if_. That was simply not an option.

T'Jenn's daily routine demanded her mother's attention and, for that, Christine was grateful. The baby was four months old now and sported two teeth in her bottom gums, giving her smiles a charming expression that always made Christine laugh. Over her fever and temporarily between bouts of teething, Jenny was an alert, good-natured child, beginning to hold her head up and take notice of the world around her. She was especially fascinated by the Teela'u children who were roughly her age or the developmental equivalent. Their mothers often encouraged the little furry creatures out of their pouches as the females sat together and worked, and T'Jenn became part of the informal crèche, watched over by their respective mothers.

As the day wore on, T'Jenn napped, woke, nursed, had to be changed several times, and finally, about sundown, began to display signs of approaching bedtime. Christine took her baby back to their living quarters and there spent a quiet, contented hour with her younger child, bathing her and readying her for bed, then opening her robe to suckle the infant. T'Jenn kept her blue eyes fixed on her mother's face as she nursed and Christine talked softly to her the whole time, knowing that the baby couldn't understand her words but fascinated by Christine's voice.

"You are such a pretty girl," the woman smiled down at the baby. "You remind me of your grandmother, you know that? You've got her beautiful eyes. Yes, you do! Actually, both your grannies have blue eyes, but I think you got your Granny Rosalyn's eyes and not your Granny Amanda's."

T'Jenn blinked those deep blue eyes sleepily, but didn't move her attention away from the familiar face above her.

"Both your grannies would be so surprised to know about you and your big brother," Christine continued, a note of wistfulness creeping into her voice. "Oh, sweetie pie, I wonder sometimes if we'll ever see them again. They must think your daddy and I were killed a long time ago." Her voice caught and she lifted her head to gaze away in the distance, mentally searching for the bond that joined her and Spock at all times. "Oh, please, Spock," she whispered. "Please come back to me soon. Please bring Sapel back safe to both of us!"

She thought she felt an answering pulse but couldn't be sure. Spock's telepathic powers were sketchy over a distance. Vulcans were touch telepaths, although, if he concentrated hard, Spock was able to send and receive limited messages. It was a strain, however, and he only attempted it under extraordinary circumstances.

Christine became aware that T'Jenn's suckling was beginning to slack off and she looked down to see the baby's eyes closed and her little mouth loose about her mother's nipple. After a few second, she roused, latched on and nursed furiously once more.

It was a losing battle, though, because her lids dropped heavily once again and sleep claimed her. Humming softly, Christine gently detached her nipple from the baby's mouth and rearranged her robe to cover her breast. For a few moments, she simply sat and held her baby, her thoughts ranging from sweet contentment at the joys of the warm little bundle in her arms to sadness as she remembered the children she had lost.

Finally, Christine settled her sleeping infant onto her bed, then turned to the task of preparing her own supper, all the while listening for any sound that might indicate the return of her husband and son.

* * *

Spock had been awake the whole night, sitting in the dark chamber with his back against the wall and his son asleep in his arms. Sapel had clung to him fearfully from the moment they had been reunited and would not leave his father's side. Even after they had been taken to this small room on a lower level and been brought food and water, Sapel remained in physical contact. He refused to settle onto the numerous cushions to sleep until Spock finally drew one up near the wall, sank down cross-legged onto it and took his small son onto his lap.

He did not quiz the boy yet on all that had happened. Sapel was still too traumatized. There was nothing that could be done at the moment in any case. Throughout the long night, Spock had meditated as his son slept snuggled against him, secure that everything would be all right now that his papa was there.

Spock was not so assured. Su'a's last comment to him had been ominous in its vagueness, but he could not help but feel uneasy. Something was about to happen. He felt certain of it.

Sapel stirred in his arms but did not awake, settling down again with a sigh. In the early light of dawn, Spock gazed down at the sleeping child, quietly studying the little face. Sapel was six years old now by Terra Two years, but was closer to eight by the turnings of Vulcan or Earth. He was outgrowing his childish softness and beginning to sprout into the height and lankiness of pre-puberty. Cheekbones were becoming prominent in a face that would be long and hawkish, reflecting both of his parents' features.

Facially, he resembled Christine a bit more, but his eyes were Vulcan, dark and perceptive beneath brows like sweeping raven wings. But those eyes were closed now, dark thick lashes spread upon his cheeks, rosy with Human blood and not that of Vulkhansu. His breath came softly between parted lips as he slept, still tender and vulnerable with youth, especially now in slumber.

Gently, Spock brushed back the unruly tar-dark hair that spilled over Sapel's forehead and reflected on the miracle of his little boy's existence. In quiet times such as this, he still marveled that this child was his, his blood, his genes. The heir of his line. Sarek would be hard-pressed to contain himself if he knew he had a grandson, Spock thought, picturing his own father's barely controlled excitement.

Spock could not refrain from a ruefully lifted brow. Sarek would view his grandchild as his last opportunity to bring up a son to honor the Family as a proper Son of Surak. He had certainly failed miserably with Sybok and then Spock. At least that was Sarek's viewpoint. Both his sons lost to gallivanting emotion, completely and irretrievably consumed by the antithesis of logic. But Sapel would be raised properly, becoming the perfect Vulcan.

Suddenly, Spock was very glad that Sapel was well out of Sarek's reach. The boy was too Human, too strong-minded to submit himself to the Disciplines. Spock had tried to instill Surak's teachings in his son, but even he had to admit that the Tenets could not always be used here in this untamed and primitive planet. This was a place for new rules and for the art of adaption.

Sapel was born to it. This was his planet, his home. And it was appropriate that the planet had been named Terra Two, because it had more in common with Earth than Vulcan. And Sapel was its true son. His nature would not take him on the old pathways.

He might look Vulcan with his pointed ears and sweeping brows, but the blood of Terra ran in his veins, much stronger than that of his Vulcan ancestors. He would forsake Vulcan if he ever knew it. And that fact would tear Sarek apart should he ever have to confront it.

Sapel frowned in his sleep and made a moaning sound, wriggling in discomfort within the embrace of Spock's protective arms. At the same moment, Spock felt a surge of fear and shock flood through his link with Christine and he steeled himself for the blast of emotions that was about to assault him.

Whatever was happening ... It had begun.

* * *

Sudden crashes and screeches of terror yanked Christine from sleep as harshly as if she had been physically assaulted. For an instant she was disoriented, but then years of red alerts and emergencies kicked her into overdrive and she was on her feet and at the door of her living quarters almost before her brain had time to catch up with her body. T'Jenn had been jolted awake, too, and was screaming from her place in the bed furs, but Christine was too shocked by what she was seeing to react right away to her child's distress.

In the early dawn light, the village had erupted into pandemonium. Teela'u were scrambling up and down the trunks of the baobabs, clutching children, brandishing weapons, running every way possible, hooting and screeching in terror and anger … and among them was an invading force of Lemurians such as Christine had never seen. They were taller, heavier and armed with copper-tipped spears and knives of the flashing metal. As she watched, horrified, they were chasing down the Teela'u and slaughtering any they could catch. But the Teela'u were fighting back and a full scale battle was erupting before her eyes.

Christine fell back in shock and snatched her squalling baby up into her arms, wondering wildly if she should run or fight … and where she could possibly go. Her frantic plans were almost immediately rendered moot because three of the big lemurs discovered the slit in the baobab trunk and quickly pushed their way into it, backing Christine up against the wall with their spears. They chattered animatedly among themselves and the biggest one stepped forward, addressing her in a terse, threatening tone.

She clutched T'Jenn tighter against her. "What do you want!?" she demanded, but had no way of knowing whether or not they understood her.

They made no move to harm her, however, and the seeming leader gestured with his spear to indicate that she should precede them out the opening. Christine hesitated. She was clad only in her soft leather night dress, barefoot, and T'Jenn was crying hard with fear, hunger and a wet diaper. But their attackers didn't appear to care. Again they indicated that she was to go and reinforced their orders with the tips of their spears.

Christine shakily obeyed, ducking through the opening and out into the carnage that was going on full force around her. The three Lemurians prodded her ahead and hurried her out of the village and into the woods. Behind her, she could hear the screams and howls of the battle for a very long time, echoing through the shattered quiet of the morning.

Her captors force-marched her toward the west, uncaring when she stumbled or winced as her bare feet encountered stones or sticks in the leaf litter. T'Jenn continued to cry in bewildered misery, unable to understand why her mother did not tend to her needs, although somewhat comforted by Christine's presence nevertheless.

As for Christine, she was shivering in fear and cold. The early morning chill was still prevalent, mist hovering just above ground and dew heavy on all the plants and underbrush. At least her continual movement kept some warmth generating in her body, but shock almost counteracted it. Tears hovered in her eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling. She didn't know who these Lemurians were but she was damned if she was going to cry in front of them.

Within a half hour they came to a wide creek and Christine was herded across it, the chill water nearly numbing her naked feet and legs. The Lemurians didn't seem to notice the cold, pausing on the other side to give their feet a vigorous shake and then shoving their captive onward. T'Jenn was only whimpering now in her mother's arms and Christine did what she could to keep the baby warm.

Time blurred into a dazed passage of sensations and scenes ... a Teeli village where many of the inhabitants turned out to gawk, more trees and a climbing pathway, finally a towering cliff that seemed to be swarming with lemurs and high perched houses and pulleys hauling things up and down. By now Christine was too much in shock to register anything. They had been traveling for about three hours and she was exhausted, dehydrated and half frozen. She didn't protest when her guards led her into an elevator-like contraption and they were hoisted up the cliff face.

After two or three changes to other buckets that lifted them ever higher, at last they were deposited at the top and she was marched up a stone ramp to a temple-like building and down one side to a curtained doorway. There the biggest guard shoved her roughly inside, nearly causing her to stumble on the threshold.

She was caught by a pair of large, warm hands and immediately lifted into strong supportive arms, to be deposited a few seconds later on a layer of cushions near the wall. Then Spock was holding her and T'Jenn in a frantic embrace, one joined almost immediately by a weeping Sapel, clutching her and crying, "Mama! Mama!"

Christine let her hold on the world slip and sank back into darkness.

* * *

Christine came to with Spock lightly slapping her cheeks and addressing her urgently. "Christine! _T'hyla_ — wake up!"

She blinked groggily, for a moment not knowing where she was, then it all came back to her. She sat up and instantly groped for T'Jenn. "Baby! Where—"

"It's all right," Spock assured her hastily. "Sapel's got her."

Christine glanced over to see her son holding his baby sister and bouncing her slightly as he'd often seen her mother do. The infant still looked upset and teary-eyed, but wasn't bawling at the moment.

Spock turned his wife's attention back to him. "How are you feeling? Are you hurt? What did they do to you?"

She gestured for him to slow down, trying to get her thoughts together. "How'm I feeling? Cold! I'm half naked and frozen to death! And angry and … frightened … and … and…" Beginning to tremble from all of those reasons and shock, too, Christine felt her eyes filling up. "They … they raided the village … oh, Spock! They were killing them! It was awful!"

"But did they hurt _you_?" he demanded anxiously.

She thought about it. "Am I hurt? No, I don't think so, except for stubbed toes and scratches." She shakily looked down at her legs and feet and discovered more blood than she'd thought possible. But a quick exam revealed its source. "Shit! What a time to start my friggin' period!" And she burst into tears at this, the last straw. Covering her face with her hands, Christine sobbed as all of her emotions broke free. Spock gathered her in his arms and held her until her weeping subsided a little, then he pulled away and steadied her. "Christine! What about T'Jenn? Did they hurt her?"

Christine shook her head, wiping her tears away with the heel of her hand. "No, but she's hungry and wet and I know all this must have scared her to death."

Spock rose to his feet and marched to the doorway, shoving the fabric barrier aside. A Teeli guard stepped in front of him and brandished his spear. The Vulcan would have none of it, glaring down at the shorter being. Grasping the Teeli's shoulder to assure that his message got across telepathically, Spock commanded in a tone that brooked no argument, "My wife and daughter need assistance! I want blankets and hot food brought here immediately! I want a stack of those towel cloths and I want something to warm up this room. Bring water and a bowl so that my wife may wash herself and — do it now!"

The Teeli's eyes narrowed and he said something back to Spock. But it only made the tall Vulcan lean down to look him straight in the face. "And you tell Su'a that I want to see him! I protest the treatment of myself and my family!"

Evidently intimidated by the man's threatening attitude, the guard pulled away and barked out an order to a subordinate, who immediately hurried away, then turned to glare back defiantly at Spock. But the Vulcan seemed appeased for the moment and let the curtain drop back into place, returning to where his wife lay shivering on the cushions.

"Spock, where are we? Who are these people?" she asked, shivering.

"They are the enemies of Charlie's people," he answered and knelt to rub her cold feet vigorously between his hands. "I was taken to their king and learned that the reason for their conflict is that the Teeli — these people — want the land that Charlie's people have. It is very much like the wars that raged during Earth's 19th Century when more advanced cultures moved in and drove out the indigenous cultures." He moved to her other foot and chafed it thoroughly with his palms, imparting his own body heat to her as well as getting her blood flowing. "I very much fear that Charlie and his kin are doomed."

"But where are they?" his wife asked. "In another room here?"

"No," Spock answered, keeping his eyes firmly on his work. "I have not seen them since we were brought here, but I believe they have been taken to a place of incarceration."

"Or worse?" Christine whispered and Spock raised his eyes to meet hers. He didn't answer but the hopelessness in his deep brown eyes said it all.

They were interrupted as the door curtain was drawn back by one of the guards and several servants entered, bearing the things Spock had demanded. As the servants knelt to place the items on the floor, Spock was startled to discover that he recognized the little female crouching before him, offering him a stack of linen towels, her eyes downcast. She had a diamond-shaped patch of brown fur on her nose and he remembered seeing this distinctive mark the past fall when he was convalescing in the Teela'u village. She was one of Charlie's relatives.

Unobtrusively, he reached out to touch her hand with his fingertips. // _Chik'pu?_ // he said mentally.

She looked up at him, her golden eyes enormous in her petite face. Then she flicked her gaze at the guard and quickly lowered her eyes again. // _Char-eek's friend_ ,// she answered. // _I am sorry to see you here.//_

// _How long?_ // he asked.

// _Eight moon turns_.//

// _Have you seen Char-eek? Where have they taken him?_ //

She looked up at him, her pupils dilating with distress. // _Gone_ ,// she replied.

The guard barked an order at her and she quickly handed the towels over and backed out with the others. The curtain fell back, leaving them alone again.

Besides towels and food, the servants had brought a little brazier on tripod legs, a couple of finely woven blankets of woolen-like material, a large copper bowl, and a large clay jug of water, enough for washing and drinking.

Spock immediately turned to the matters at hand, pouring water in the bowl and setting it on the brazier to heat. "Clean yourself and attend to your needs and I will see to T'Jenn," he said to Christine.

"Gladly," she answered wearily.

The water heated quickly in the copper bowl and they set about their chores. Spock had Sapel rip a couple of the linen towels into smaller sections to be used as washcloths and diapers, then laid his baby daughter down on a mat and stripped off her soaked and dirty diaper.

Christine turned her back to them and began her bath, keeping her nightdress, her only clothing, on for modesty but washing herself as thoroughly as she could. Once she was clean, she ripped a long strip off a towel and rolled the rest up as a makeshift sanitary napkin. She wedged this between her legs and secured it with the belt strip.

Spock had cleaned and diapered T'Jenn by now and wrapped her in one of the blankets. It was thin but soft and warm and he wondered what animal had supplied the wool. The baby was happier now that she was dry and snug, but her hunger came back into sharp relief. Her little face puckered up and she began to cry.

"Okay, let me have her now," Christine said. "She's starved and my boobs are about to explode!" She moved over to the pile of cushions and took her child into her arms, opening her dress. "And would you get me that other blanket, sweetie?" she asked Sapel. "My feet are freezing!"

The boy hurried to comply and tucked the covering around his mother's feet and legs. Christine beamed at him then turned her attention to maneuvering her turgid nipple to her baby's mouth. T'Jenn latched on at once and began to suck ravenously. Christine had to break her nursing every few minutes to keep her from drinking too fast.

Spock took the bowl of dirty water to one side of the room where they had discovered a niche that obviously served as toilet facilities. He dumped the water and then used a little more water to wash it out thoroughly, rinsing out the washcloths and spreading them to dry near the brazier. Afterwards, his hands cleaned and toweled, he turned to the food the Teeli servants had brought.

"Oh, my God, is that cheese?" Christine exclaimed as she looked over the variety of foods on the large platter.

"What's cheese?" asked Sapel.

"The curds of soured milk that are compressed and allowed to age," Spock answered, passing Christine a piece of bread with some of the white crumbs balanced on it.

Sapel wrinkled his nose. "Yuck! How can you eat that?" he demanded.

His mother had closed her eyes and had her lips pressed together against the tartness. But the expression on her face was one of pure bliss. "Oh, that's absolutely heavenly!" she exclaimed. "It tastes like a ... um ... Mild Swiss, don't you think? It's got that same nutty flavor."

"It reminds me of _q'eem t'kan_ ," Spock answered, having some himself. "That's made from _paran_ milk. Would you like to try a bit, Sapel?"

"No!" he declared, but helped himself to some of the hot bread and dipped it into a whipped honey sauce.

"Don't eat just sweets," Christine admonished him.

After allowing them to dine for a few more minutes and watching Christine switch T'Jenn to her other breast, Spock asked her quietly, "Can you tell me what happened?"

Christine suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. "I was asleep when it started," she said in a tremulous voice, looking down to caress her baby's dark head. "There was suddenly a lot of yelling and running and before I knew it, three soldiers had burst in and forced me and T'Jenn out. They didn't even allow me time to put any clothes on or get anything, just rushed us out and off into the woods. We walked all morning until we got here. I don't know what happened to the others back in the village. The soldiers were killing people but they were fighting back too. It sounded like a real war had erupted." She looked up at her husband, her blue eyes large with tears. "Tell me what happened to _you_!"

Spock related his part of the story, adding what he had learned from the little slave Teela'u who had brought them towels. "I don't know what she meant by 'gone'," Spock said.

"What do we do now?" Christine questioned. "What's going to happen to us? Will they let us go or kill us or enslave us or what?"

"I do not know, Christine," he answered her, his voice holding a bit of tension. "I intend to find out as soon as I have an audience with Su'a, their king. He is a very powerful telepath and I fear he will be a formidable foe. But one way or another, we will get out of here. _All of us_." The Vulcan's brows lowered over his dark eyes, as hard and intense as Christine had ever seen them.

"One thing we've got to manage to do is get back to the village and get our things," she responded. "Everything we have is back there ... our clothes and supplies, T'Jenn's diapers, the tents, the packs, the..." Abruptly, Christine's voice failed her and her face drained of color. "Oh, my God! The phasers, Spock! The phasers are in the backpacks! If anyone finds them..."

But she didn't have to say anything more. Spock was already on his feet and heading toward the door.

Spock pushed aside the Teeli guards who tried to block his way and stalked up the ramp to the upper level, ignoring the guards who ran to stop him. A foot taller and immensely stronger than the Lemurians, the Vulcan was only halted as he reached the temple door and was confronted by a half-dozen brandished spears barring his way.

A jeweled attendant appeared, glaring at those causing the disturbance. Spock said forcefully, "I must see Su'a now."

The attendant stared back at him for a moment, but evidently understood him for he ducked back into the temple and was gone for several minutes, then returned and spoke a word to the guards. They pulled back and lifted their spears out of the way.

Spock strode past them and followed the attendant into the audience room. The little, ancient priest was curled on his nest of cushions at the far end of the room, impassively watching the tall Vulcan approach, sunlight through the high windows flashing blindingly off the golden ornaments adorning his slight body.

Spock stopped and bowed a shallow reverence then straightened again. "Thank you for seeing me," he said, although his tone was edged with hardness.

"Did you not command it?" Su'a replied, his own high, accented voice holding the same sharp undertone. "Not many would be so bold."

"I am not generally given to subterfuge," Spock answered.

Su'a's ears twitched slightly forward. "You will forgive me but I do not know this word. Perhaps you know a simpler one? Trickery or lying, perhaps? Is that not what you mean?"

"I have not come to bandy words with you," Spock answered, his brows lowering slightly over dark blazing eyes. "I have come to protest the events of this morning and the manner in which my wife and child were treated."

"Did I not have them brought to you alive and unharmed?" Su'a shot back. "Are they not now in the space I have provided you? Eating my food, warming themselves at my fire? You would do well to remember that you are a guest here in my house."

"I am grateful for this," Spock answered. "However, my wife was not allowed to dress herself in suitable clothing or gather supplies needed for the baby. Everything was left in the Teela'u village and may have been destroyed by your troops in their needless rampage — which I also protest! These things are essential to our survival. I insist that you allow us to return there so that we can retrieve our supplies ... if they are still there."

Su'a leaned back into his cushions and regarded Spock with half-lidded eyes. "I shall send to have them brought here."

That will not be acceptable," Spock responded. "There are objects that are ... sacred ... to us. Only we may handle them."

"You think me stupid, Spock? Do you believe that I do not know your true purpose? You wish to go to the aid of your savage allies. I will not permit such a thing."

"I only wish to retrieve our supplies. We will then leave you," Spock answered, wondering if Su'a could read the deception in his statement.

The priest sat silent for several minutes. "I find I grow irritated at your continual lies. I see within you, Spock. You think I will simply allow you to walk away from here? Simply allow you to supply your friends with weapons of magic? This you will not be allowed to do."

For an instant, Spock had the terrible suspicion that the Su'a was already in possession of the off-world armament that he so desperately needed to go back and retrieve. But, calling the Lemurian's bluff, he asked, "What weapons of magic? I have nothing but my bow and spear."

The priest's eyes narrowed in anger. "Crude toys that any child might possess!" he snapped. "You know well what weapon I mean! The sky knife you wore here! The magic metal that does not break or bend!" And Su'a abruptly reached beneath one of the cushions to pull forth the Romulan hunting knife that Spock had kept at his side during the long years of abandonment on this planet. "I know that it is not a product of this world. I know it came from the sky with you!"

As the Vulcan attempted to find something to say, Su'a rose from his cushions and stalked toward him, the knife lying across the palm of his hand. "I want the secret, Spock! I want to know the magic of this metal! I want more! Such weapons will make us invincible!"

But Spock's surprise was fading rapidly into resolution. "I cannot tell you how steel is made because I do not know the process. But even if I did, I would not give such knowledge to you."

"I think you will, Spock," the Teeli hissed, staring malevolently up at the taller being. "I think you can be persuaded to answer the riddle of the sky steel. I beg you to remember that your mate and offspring are my ... guests here as well. How they are treated depends on you."

Spock took a threatening step closer to the ancient priest, his eyes as hard as obsidian. "It is extremely unwise to threaten a Vulcan, Su'a. I have many times your physical strength. Should I choose to kill you, there would be little you could do to stop me."

"Could I not?" Su'a almost seemed to laugh sardonically. "You over-estimate your strength and determination. Do you think I have not faced such a thing before?" His gaze drilled into Spock's with utter fearlessness. "Come and behold my power."

The priest turned and walked through a curtained entryway nearby and Spock had little choice but to follow, ducking under the low doorway.

He found himself in a dark chamber lit by numerous oil lamps, dominated by a massive altar at the far end on which rested a grotesque carving of a Teeli female, a vast caricature in red granite, sitting cross-legged and holding across her lap a shallow bowl, ready to receive offerings. But it was not this idol that made his jaw go slack as he turned to observe the contents and wall hangings.

It was a trophy room, or sacrificial storehouse, or a chamber of horrors, depending on one's point of view. Every inch of the walls and floor were covered with Teela'u pelts and scalps, as expertly tanned as any that Christine had ever fashioned into clothing, but these pelts were not from animals. They were from sentient, civilized beings, and there was every size represented here from full-grown adult males down to tiny babies not yet out of the pouch.

It got worse. Along one wall was a long stone bench upon which sat the dried, decapitated heads of a dozens of Teela'u, probably leaders that had been captured and sacrificed on the carved altar. There were various other body parts on display, too — hands, feet, eyes, genitals — but it was what was nailed to the altar wall that made the blood drain from Spock's face and his stomach lurch in utter revulsion.

On either side of the stone goddess were the stripped skins of two humanoid forms, still bearing the greenish tint and black hair of a very familiar race. They were unmistakably Romulan.

Su'a waited until he was sure that Spock had had time to thoroughly take in the contents of the altar room, then he said in a dark voice, "The Mother is hungry. The little female would suit her well."

For a split second, Spock didn't understand what he was saying, then his heart froze in mid‑beat. Barely containing his fury, he swung on the priest. "Her death means your death," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"And then the young male," the priest continued implacably.

"No," Spock pleaded, fury giving way to desperation.

"And finally your mate. A fine offering to the Mother God."

Spock shut his eyes against the nightmare vision he was picturing. "I cannot tell you what you want to know, Su'a," he stated. "I am forbidden to do so by all the rules I live by."

"That is unfortunate," the Teeli answered, unmoved. "Go back to your sleeping room, Spock, and think very hard about which is more important to you … your rules or your family. I will send for you at dawn and receive your answer then."

* * *

Deep in meditation, Spock sat in lotus-seat, facing the curtained doorway. It was a flimsy defense against the Teeli, should they decide to seize any of his family, but it was all he could do at the moment. He was not meditating on which was more important, the Prime Directive or his family — that was a non-issue. Instead, he was attempting to formulate a plan to get them safely away from the murderous Teeli priest-king and also to free the enslaved Teela'u, both his companions and their children and those others who had been captured long before.

But first he had to get Christine and their children to safety. It would have to be done tonight, after the village settled down to sleep. He didn't know how many guards would be on patrol or even how much of the village would be between themselves and safety. Their direction of escape concerned him as well. He did not want to take them out the way they had come in. Getting down the cliff face would be a problem and would cost them time they could not afford. Instead, he would risk a path to the north or west. The plateau on which the temple sat was the edge of a highland area that led eventually to the foothills of the western mountain range. Although he had no idea what lay in that direction, he decided that it was the fastest path away from the temple complex. He would simply have to improvise as he went along.

Then, once Christine and the children were safely away, he would attempt to free the Teela'u slaves. He could not fight their war for them, but he could attempt to give them a helping hand, particularly Charlie and his captive sons and daughter.

He also resolved to get his knife back from Su'a. Not only was it irreplaceable, but Spock had no intention of allowing Su'a to posses this "superior" technology. The Teeli were clever and intelligent. They just might figure out a way to reproduce steel, or at the very least to forge iron. They were already far ahead of the Teela'u in their mining and use of copper. By natural progress, they might even be on the verge of discovering bronze. He would not allow them to leap to industrial steel to use as weapons. They already had enough of an advantage over their stone-culture rivals.

And somehow he would have to get back to the Teela'u village and retrieve their packs and the phasers they contained. It would need to be done quickly and before Su'a could strike at dawn tomorrow.

Spock opened his eyes, his innate time sense telling him that it was sundown. It would be dark soon but too early to begin. He must be patient as he prepared himself. Flexing his muscles to return himself fully from his meditative state, Spock called, "Sapel."

The boy appeared promptly. "Yes, Papa?"

"Sit with me, Sapel," the grim-faced Vulcan ordered. "I want you to tell me everything you can about where you were held captive, every detail about the village that you can remember, and any other thing you can think of, no matter how trivial it may seem."

* * *

"Let me have T'Jenn," Spock murmured, his face barely illuminated by the wan light of the brazier. Christine handed the baby into her husband's arms and watched as he cradled her for a moment, calming her sleepy fretfulness. Then he carefully placed his fingertips on the child's face and slipped into her mind. Within a minute, he backed out once more, having placed her into a deep slumber from which she would not awaken until morning.

Spock returned the baby into Christine's care and she wrapped the infant in one of the blankets. She already carried the other one as a sling filled with the rest of the linen towels and some of the food. Sapel had a bag fashioned from a towel, holding everything else they could use from their evening meal. Two of the towels had been ripped into strips and wound around Christine's bare feet, rudimentary protection but the best they could do. If Spock managed to return to the Teela'u village, he would get her clothing and moccasins, but for now this would have to do.

They were ready and Spock moved silently to the curtained doorway, listening intently. He was absolutely still for a long moment then struck with blinding speed and, within a heartbeat, he had seized the Teeli who stood guard outside their door and had dragged him inside, his hand over his mouth and his powerful arm around the struggling Teeli's throat.

Spock did not hesitate in his actions. He had resolved any issues he might have had and taken the logical course. With a quick jerk of the guard's chin, he had snapped the Lemurian's neck. It was fast and lethal, _tal-shaya_ working as well on these beings as on Vulcans. Sapel hid his face in his mother's side, but Christine had not flinched either. These creatures were going to kill her children. She would give no quarter in protecting her babies.

Quietly, Spock laid the body on the floor but caught up the copper-tipped spear. It was a foot shorter than he was used to, but he would not pass up any weapon. He stood listening once again, then nodded and slipped out the doorway, his wife and son close on his heels.

For a few seconds, they paused and got their bearings, then Spock led them down to the ground level of the temple mound. The moons had already set and there was a slight overcast obscuring the stars. Faint light came from occasional lamps in use here and there, but for the most part, the night was extremely dark.

Spock was thankful for that. The Lemurians had superb night vision. His own was better than a Human's, but the natives here were evolved from night-dwelling creatures. Fortunately, the modern Teeli had changed to diurnal in their habits.

The village was large and stretched for about a mile along the clifftop, a maze of narrow lanes between mud huts and tree dwellings. At times it was so dark that the escapees could not see each other, but it was a certain bet that the patrolling guards or late night villagers had no such problem. Several times the family was forced to crouch hidden in the blackest shadows, frozen immobile, until the danger had passed and they could move on.

After one particularly close call, Christine pressed her mouth against Spock's ear and whispered, "How much farther, do you think?"

He shook his head. "I do not know," he whispered back. "The houses seem as close together as ever."

Sapel had been peering along an alley, straining to see, and came back to join his parents. "I think we're near the wall," he hissed in a barely audible voice.

They moved cautiously up the alley and found that indeed they had reached the village's protective stockade fence, the perimeter and gate guarded by watchful Teeli guards. Their attention seemed to be on the outer darkness, however, as if they were expecting an attack from that direction.

"How are we going to get past those?" Christine whispered.

"I do not know," Spock murmured back, studying the fortification for any place where they could find a weakness and manage to get through.

Suddenly, there was a disturbance as a Teeli soldier came running from the direction of the main part of the village and spoke with great agitation to the other guards. One, seemingly the captain, made a sweeping gesture and gave a loud order.

Immediately half the guards hurried away, running at top speed back toward the temple.

"Uh oh," Christine whispered. "Looks like they've discovered we're missing."

"So I would assume," Spock answered. "This complicates—"

He broke off abruptly, jerking as a furry hand grasped his forearm from the darkness. // _Do not be afraid_ ,// said the mental voice of the Lemurian who had appeared beside him. // _And keep completely quiet. We are Teela'u. We're here to help you._ //

The Teela'u waited until the Teeli soldiers had dispersed then continued. // _I am Fala'qan. We learned that you had been taken by Su'a and that Char-eek is also a prisoner, among others of our clan. The Teeli have warred with us for many years, but the attack on Chi'lat was worse than any of late. We are here to rescue our brothers and avenge our dead_.//

// _How did you find us?_ // Spock questioned, aware now of other bodies crouched in the darkness around them.

// _We have many eyes in this village_ ,// Fala'qan answered enigmatically. // _Chik'pu passed the word that you had escaped and we thought you would attempt to flee on the upland side. We have watchers at the other gates_.//

// _Can you get my mate and children out to safety?_ // Spock asked intently.

// _And you as well_ ,// Fala'qan assured him.

// _No. I am going back to the temple_ ,// the Vulcan answered with determination. // _This is not finished yet. I came here on a rescue mission and there are many to be rescued. More than I knew at first_.//

Fala'qan's large eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness. // _This night all will be free_ ,// he replied. Then his gaze shifted back to the gate in the stockade. // _Stay quiet now. We will open the way._ //

The Lemurian moved away silently, followed by his companions.

The firefight was over quickly, the Teela'u moving like ghosts in the darkness. They surprised the guards and overwhelmed them, slitting throats with stone knives as sharp as any surgical blade. When they had disposed of their enemy, the Teela'u opened the gate and the warriors who had been waiting outside, beyond the reach of the torchlight, swarmed in. They were armed with flint-tipped spears and obsidian knives, bows and arrows, clubs and cudgels. Fala'qan motioned Spock to bring his family forward.

// _Go with Ak'san now_ ,// he said. // _He will take you to a safe place_.//

Spock turned to his wife. "Take the children to shelter. I'm going back with the warriors. There is much work to be done tonight."

"No!" Christine automatically responded. "Please, let's just go!"

But Spock shook his head, his dark eyes serious. "We are part of this, Christine, and I won't abandon our friends. I've got to help them and also to get our things back. You go with Ak'san and keep the children safe. I'll catch up with you. I don't expect this to take long."

She stared at him fearfully for a long moment, then threw her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. He returned it, then pushed her away. "Hurry!"

Then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness with the Teela'u warriors who were already dispersing through the alleys and lanes on the village.

* * *

The journey back to the temple was a nightmare of battling bodies, burning buildings and screams of terror. Several times, Spock found himself under attack as Teeli soldiers appeared out of the darkness and were on him almost before he could react. Using the short spear he'd acquired in their initial escape, he knocked his attackers off, thrusting at the half-seen combatants, feeling the spear point connect with flesh, then yanking it free and moving on. He bled from half a dozen wounds, fortunately minor, dark green streaming down his face from a lucky thrust that sliced open his right cheekbone.

After an endless time, Spock found himself at the base of the temple, still in the company of Fala'qan and his warriors.

The fighting here was fierce as Teeli and Teela'u clashed in savage combat. The Vulcan's ancient warrior blood was high as well, afire with the adrenalin of battle. Towering over the four-to-five foot Lemurians, he fought his way up the ramp to the highest level while Fala'qan led his troops toward the lower levels where slaves and captives were housed. Their aim was to free their brothers. Spock was after another goal.

Dispatching the last two defenders, he ducked and plunged into the audience room, breathing heavily and alert for more attackers. There were none. All of the fighting had moved lower down. The room seemed to be in order, its many cushions scattered about and Su'a's "throne" of pillows piled in its usual place. Spock strode purposefully across the room and tore the pile apart. There was nothing hidden within them.

Spock moved on to the hellish altar room, determined to dismantle the entire temple if that's what it took. The fury and righteous indignation he felt, any other time, would have sent him into hours of meditation in order to negate such destructive emotions, but he had already meditated and the logic he had reached said that the Prime Directive did not apply here. These people — or at least Su'a — already knew where Spock came from, had already had contact with and had killed out-world beings, was intent on using alien weapons to destroy their neighbors, and had threatened to murder Spock's entire family if he did not consent to help him in that pursuit.

This was a blood-thirsty and aggressive people, on the move and destroying peaceful cultures as it encountered them. Right or wrong, Spock was personally involved in it now. And, in any case, this was not a Federation world and its laws did not apply here. More ancient rules governed here and Spock had surrendered to their authority.

The altar room was as he remembered it, filled with its grisly trophies, the red granite idol of the Mother God sitting cross-legged with her bowl across her lap, awaiting sacrifices and offerings. In the flickering light of numerous oil lamps, she seemed to be watching him, her mouth gaped open hungrily. For a second, he had an uncomfortable flash of déjà vu, for it reminded him of the ancestor shrine that had resided in his cabin for many years. But that figure was benign. This one exuded evil and malice.

Spock turned his attention away from the idol and searched the room thoroughly. There was no sign of his things here either. He stood puzzling over where Su'a could have hidden them, then his eye caught sight of another doorway, hidden behind a curtain of Teela'u pelts.

Taking up a lamp from the altar, he cautiously entered the room, alert for danger, but instead found himself in a treasure room, holding offerings of material goods. There were golden objects here and things of burnished copper, pottery and beautiful vases of painted clay, intricately crafted baskets and precious stones in piles. There were also weapons of Teela'u design and Spock abruptly spotted something familiar in the half-darkness — his own hunting spear, bow and quiver of arrows. Gladly, he caught them up again and savored the weight and balance of the long, straight shaft he himself had crafted.

Then, in the flickering lamplight, he saw something else incongruously housed in this primitive storeroom. Folded and stacked neatly were two Romulan flight suits, their accompanying boots beside them, undoubtedly the clothing of the unfortunate men whose flayed hides adorned the altar room wall. Quickly, Spock picked up one of the boots and examined it. The leather was old and stiff — he wondered how long ago those ill-fated Romulans had met their end here — but he thought oiling would restore the leather's suppleness. It was hard to gauge a size, but he thought Christine could wear the smaller pair of boots. The other pair looked bigger yet, but he didn't have time to try on shoes right now.

Seven years of exile on Terra Two had taught Spock never to pass up an opportunity and he did not let this one pass. Snatching up the bundle of clothing and boots, he was startled when something clattered to the floor. Bending down to see what he'd dropped, he was shocked at what he found. It was a Romulan blaster, the grip smashed, but the energy chamber and barrel still intact.

He set down what he was carrying and picked the blaster up to examine it more closely. It did not fit the hand as easily as Starfleet phasers did and was a heavier, clumsier weapon. In addition, he was unfamiliar with the workings but there were some aspects of the design that were easily interpreted, the trigger for instance. Bringing the weapon up near his face to see what he was doing, Spock experimentally clicked several settings and caught his breath when a blue light came on unexpectedly.

The blaster was charged! The thing was still operational! He wondered how Su'a could possibly have missed that fact. Perhaps it had been drained when he acquired it and the battery pack had partially recharged over the time it had been lying dormant here in the storeroom.

Su'a definitely was not getting this back, Spock decided, and stuck it in the waistband of his pants. Then he caught up the clothing and his weapons and started back out of the storeroom. The steel Romulan knife had to be around here somewhere. He'd tear the altar down if there was evidence of a hidden chamber there.

He had just stepped back into the altar room and straightened up when a sharp point stabbed him in the side.

"I believe you are looking for this," Su'a's high, hard voice said directly behind him.

Spock collected himself and deliberately stepped away from the priest, turning to face him. The ancient Lemurian was unadorned, his finery put away for the night. Instead, he looked tiny and defenseless, shrunken with age and deceptively weak.

The Romulan knife in Su'a's hand seemed outsized, a grown-up's weapon in a child's grip.

Spock was not fooled by the illusion. He knew the strength of will that resided in the small, furred body and the power of his intellect.

"Indeed I am," he calmly answered. "Thank you for finding it for me." He held out his hand, palm up.

Su'a laughed harshly. "There are no games here, Spock. Your treachery has cost you dear. You may have helped your mate and spawn escape but you will take their place on the Mother's lap. She cries out for vengeance on the desecrators of her house." He motioned with the tip of the knife toward the altar.

Spock did not move. "You do not actually expect me to simply lie down and be sacrificed, do you?"

"You do not have a choice here," Su'a answered. His large golden eyes grew larger and he fixed his intent gaze on Spock's face, his pupils dilating.

Spock abruptly felt a tug, as if a line attached to his middle had tightened, pulling him forward. He fought it, standing his ground, but the tugging increased. His right foot came forward of its own accord, then his left.

"No!" he stated, refusing to comply.

"Obey the will of the Mother!" Su'a commanded, his eyes growing huger.

"I ... will ... not!" Spock closed his eyes and asserted a mighty effort.

For a moment, there was stalemate, then Spock jerked free of Su'a's influence. He fell back from the momentum of the almost palpable power surge as the Lemurian's hold on him snapped. Time seemed to halt as the two adversaries stared at one another, breathing hard, then Su'a straightened his slight frame. "Very good," he said. "I would have been disappointed if you were that easily controlled."

"I'm flattered," Spock answered, not in the least amused.

"However, you _will_ be sacrificed to the Mother in payment for the chaos you have caused." The priest's eyes glittered in the lamplight. "I should have been a better judge of your character in the beginning and added your hide to those two invaders."

He gestured toward the displayed Romulan skins.

"I'm curious," Spock retorted in an almost conversational manner. "What happened here? When did you kill these men?"

"They came five year turnings ago," the old priest replied, still staring hard at the Vulcan. "They said they came looking for those like them but we had never seen such creatures. I realize now that they were looking for you, Spock. 'A tall man like me,' the leader said. Probably with a female with yellow hair."

"Did they say why they were looking for us?" Spock's sense of alarm was jangling at this news.

Su'a shrugged. "The leader said he'd left you here some years before. He said he had come to see if you were alive."

Spock's gaze jerked up to the spread-eagled Romulan hides tacked to the wall. "Tal!" he whispered to himself, his throat suddenly dry.

"Ah, so you _do_ know him," Su'a responded with a smirk. "Then you will be most happy to join him."

The Vulcan had recovered himself and now stared hard down at the smaller being. "I have no intention of joining him. Indeed, the time has come for this madness to end."

"Indeed it has," the priest answered and stepped forward. "You and your barbaric friends are tearing this village apart. I have called all available warriors and hunters to stop this savage attack! You and your so-called friends will be destroyed!"

"I think it will be just the opposite," Spock answered with cold determination. " _And right now!_ " With blinding speed, the Vulcan lunged at the little Lemurian, his right hand already going for the knife.

The next instant, Spock found himself across the room, crumbled against the wall, his vision slowly beginning to focus once more. Su'a stood unharmed, regarding him calmly. Spock had managed to slap the knife from the priest's hand but had otherwise left him untouched.

"You see, I truly do not need the sky knife," Su'a told him mildly, almost compassionately. "But it would have been easier on both of us. Now we will both be forced to endure a pointless and exhausting duel of wills."

Spock got to his feet, his right hand still tingling from the psychic energy burst. His thoughts whirled frantically, flipping through and past options at warp speed, deciding his next action. At lightning pace, he tested and rejected scenarios, always returning to the same two facts — one, that Su'a was too powerful to fight conventionally and, two, that Spock didn't have the luxury of time. He had wasted too much of it already.

It took him a nanosecond to reach his conclusion. Rising to his full height, he faced the ancient priest and stated harshly, "I do not need the sky knife either, Su'a." And with that he pulled the Romulan blaster from his belt and fired point blank at the startled Teeli.

The blinding energy blast slammed the Lemurian backwards with the force of a photon explosion, its heat corona spitting fire over the damaged Romulan weapon and Spock's clutching hand. The Vulcan cried out at the blossom of fire and dropped the blaster, its casing nearly white hot from the backwash. An instant later, the cushion onto which it had dropped caught fire and the flames leaped as if alive, feeding on the dusty artifacts that filled the room.

Spock fell back toward the door, peering through the blaze to search for Su'a. And then he saw him. As if by design, the priest was lying limply across the lap of the Goddess altar where the blast had blown him, now motionless, head and limbs hanging bonelessly, blood dripping from his mouth. If he were still alive, there was no sign of it and Spock could not think of a more fitting end for the blood-thirsty priest than to be sacrificed on his own altar.

The flames were spreading rapidly around the room and Spock quickly found and snatched up his weapons, slipping the Romulan hunting knife safely into its sheath at his waist. Then he turned and ran from the roaring pyre behind him as draperies, pelts and grisly trophies all began to ignite, adding to the inferno. The Romulan clothing and blaster were lost to the conflagration, as if they had never existed.

Outside, the night air slapped him in the face with cold and the stench of burning. The noise was almost physical as well, the din of combat engulfing him. Spock plunged back into the chaos of battling forces. In the darkness and flaring firelight, it was hard to distinguish Teeli from Teela'u, but the Teeli had no trouble identifying him. Repeatedly, he was attacked and finally had no choice but to defend himself as savagely as he was being assaulted.

Abruptly, Teela'u were fighting at his side and Spock became aware that their number had swelled to almost double. There were more than males there, too. Females and older children were battling fiercely, along with elderly Teela'u. Spock realized suddenly who they were — the enslaved people the warriors had come to save! And in the midst of the group, he suddenly recognized the old shaman, Char-eek, and his young daughter, Picku, battling their way out of the dwindling forces of Teeli soldiers.

A Teela'u male gave a wild hoot that cut through the noise and motioned for them all to begin moving. The fighters and rescued captives began to edge away, finishing the battle as they went. It took a long time to make their way through the village toward the gate, fighting off attackers as they went, but at long last they were there. With a final surge of combat that destroyed the last Teeli defenders, the Teela'u war party and freed slaves burst through into the darkness outside the village walls and scattered into the night, their triumphant cries and whoops echoing over the burning village.

Spock ran along with them, not knowing exactly where he was going and now beginning to wonder where Christine had taken the children. Unable to penetrate the deep darkness, he slowed to a trot, then a walk as the bodies continued to rush past him. Finally, he stopped, trying to get his bearings, opening his bond with Christine, trying to locate her.

He felt her glad pulse of recognition and was flooded with sudden emotion. Quickly, he damped it down, searching, but the air was filled with passionate emotions as the liberated Teela'u grieved, cheered, wept, screamed in anger and anguish, celebrated in raucous joy all around him. It was too overwhelming. He couldn't locate his wife.

Then he felt a furry hand on him arm and a familiar voice. It was Fala'qan, bloodied, but in good spirits . // _Come ... I'll take you to your mate and young. They are not far now_.// With that, he hurried away, Spock barely keeping up with him as they ran on into the night.

* * *

The faintest hint of dawn had turned the eastern horizon just visible when they reached the rocky hills that had been their destination. Spock stumbled and caught himself, then abruptly knew the way. He could feel her there ahead of him, her presence like a beacon in the darkness. Scrambling up the rocky slope, he called almost frantically through their bond. _Christine!_

"Spock!"

Her voice came from just up ahead of him, liquid with hope and relief. Then Christine was in his arms, kissing him again and again as tears streamed down her face. Hugging him fiercely, she tasted the blood and soot on his cheeks but didn't care. He was back with her! He had returned alive!

A smaller body launched itself at him and clung tight. "Papa! Papa!" Sapel wept, too, and Spock gathered both of them close against him, scarcely believing that they were real.

"The baby..." he managed.

"She's asleep," Christine answered, pulling back and wiping her face with the heel of one hand. "She's safe."

All around them, similar reunions were going on. As the sky lightened, they could make out reunited families ... Juk'jee'ch'kan frantically embracing her returned son, Chuk'wu'jok'won ... two of Char-eek's younger wives scrambling to nuzzle and lick his old, scarred face ... Picku'acka'neech, P'Kan'u'lok and several other juvenile Teela'u rolling in a tangled ball of limbs and tails...

But there was sorrow evident, too. Many of the captives and warriors had not returned. Others were being carried in, wounded in various degrees of severity. Some would not survive the day, more would take many weeks to heal. All were tired, hungry and desperately thirsty.

Christine realized this as well and hurried to find a water bag. Spock accepted it gratefully and drank for a long time, the cool water both refreshing him and making him aware of his bone‑deep weariness. It was hard to believe that only a night had passed. It seemed like days ... weeks... The odd telescoping of time during battle had never affected him so much before, but then the battles he had fought in Starfleet weren't like this one. They had never been on such a personal level.

Fala'qan approached him and laid a hand on Spock's arm to facilitate telepathic talk. // _I am pleased, S'pq'. Joy to your mate and little ones_.//

The warrior's demeanor was one of utter fatigue, though, and Spock could see now in the daylight that his creamy fur was matted with blood and dirt. His large golden eyes were alert but dulled with exhaustion and sorrow. Spock understood more through the link than Fala'qan had said.

// _Fala'qan ... You have lost...?_ //

The Lemurian looked away then back. // _My own mate ... gone. Our pouchling, too_.//

Grief flooded through Spock and it was immediately transmitted to the war leader. For a long moment, they shared in that emotion, then Fala'qan straightened with the determination of one who has still another battle to fight. // _We rest a little bit now, then we go on. We still must return to our village to salvage what we can and say the Prayer for the dead_.//

// _I will go there, too_ ,// Spock said.

The Teela'u gazed up at him as if set to argue, but then acquiesced. // _You have right, too_ ,// he answered. // _But first eat and rest. We leave at high sun_.//

* * *

Spock did not sleep as he waited for the war party to depart. Instead, after eating, he sat in _loshorak_ position in the shade of a spreading tree, his long legs comfortably crossed, and meditated for several hours. He found it more soothing than slumber, for it helped him center himself and sort out his racing emotions. There was much to identify and conquer, for the preceding hours had been filled with the kind of savagery and excess that he had seldom experienced as a Vulcan. Conscious of his family once again nearby, Spock allowed himself to sink into the state of _arivne_ , bringing all that he was into unity.

As noon approached, he became aware of increased movement about the camp and opened his eyes, going through the series of stretching exercises that concluded meditation. Christine saw him "wake" and squatted down in front of him, her long hair disheveled and her features pale with stress. Still clad only in her night dress and the rags wrapped around her feet, she watched him as if she could not get enough of his craggy countenance.

"You're going with them then?" she asked faintly.

"I have to," he answered in a soft, deep voice, reaching to trail two fingers down her cheek. She clasped them and pressed his hand harder against her face. "All our things are there, including the phasers. I _must_ retrieve those."

"I don't know if I can bear you leaving me again," she sighed, her blue eyes swimming with unshed tears.

" _T'hy'la_..." he whispered and took her face between both of his hands. "It won't take long ... and I cannot leave them there."

"I know." Christine squeezed her eyes shut and two tears slid from beneath her lashes, tracking down to the corners of her mouth. "Oh, I wish this were over!"

"Soon, my beloved," he said softly, wiping her tears away. "Very soon."

Spock stood and pulled her to her feet, enfolding her in a heart-felt embrace. They stood holding one another for several minutes then he stepped away from her. "It is time," he said.

She nodded. Across the clearing of their wooded glade, the others were taking up their weapons and saying their own farewells.

Sapel came running up, followed closely by Charlie and Picku. The old Lemurian was moving slowly and with obvious pain. He clutched Spock's arm as he came close.

// _I won't be going_ ,// he said mentally. // _Not make it so far_.//

// _You are right to stay here, my friend_ ,// Spock told him.

// _I should go ... to say the Prayer_ ,// Char-eek responded, his regret obvious. He was the patriarch of the clan. It was his place to say the rite over his kin. But he had been wounded in the melee of the escape and was scarcely able to hobble around the camp. He wouldn't survive the journey back to his home.

Spock glanced away from him as Christine stepped up, hoisting T'Jenn onto her shoulder, Sapel close behind her, his dark eyes locked on his father, his fear terribly obvious. Abruptly, Spock turned back to the elderly healer. // _Watch over my family until I return_ ,// he said. // _Make them as your own_.//

Charlie gazed silently up at the tall Vulcan for a moment then assured him, // _I will guard them until you return_.//

Spock sent him gratitude and thanks, along with his determination to make it back alive. With that, Char-eek moved on to other members of his own family. As he did, Spock took his wife in his arms and kissed her long and hard, then he caressed his baby daughter's head and sent warming thoughts to her. T'Jenn gurgled happily as he did so, showing her pair of little teeth in a drooly grin.

Spock's throat tightened and he turned to gaze at his son. The boy was growing tall now, his lean Vulcan heritage evident in his lankiness, but there was a vulnerability about him that one never saw in Vulcan children. It was trained out of them at an early age. Spock suddenly saw in Sapel the boy that he was never allowed to be ... trusting, generous, his heart proverbially on his sleeve. His son was looking at him now with mixed hope and fear and love, desperately afraid that his father would not return from this journey.

On impulse, Spock reached out and laid his hand on Sapel's dark head, answering his fears with a touch that was almost a blessing. Sapel blinked and then smiled tentatively. "Watch over your mother," Spock instructed him softly.

The boy nodded, unable to speak. Then Spock exchanged one long last look with Christine, his eyes saying more than he could possibly speak, then he turned and was gone.

* * *

Spock was gone for a full day. It was not until well after midday the following afternoon that he and the Teela'u warriors came trudging back into camp, each heavily laden with all they could salvage. Spock carried their packs and bedrolls and an expression as grim as Christine had ever seen him wear.

Cradling the baby, she came to meet him along with Sapel and embraced him one-armed, T'Jenn between them. There was a squawk from his mid-section and they quickly drew apart, Christine looking startled. "What the—?"

A little golden head with huge tufted black ears popped up from inside Spock's shirt.

"Scruffy!" shouted Sapel and quickly retrieved his pet hunting cat from his father's care. The cat ecstatically burrowed under her young master's chin, purring and chirping loudly in her happiness at being reunited.

"Oh, I'm so glad you found her," Christine smiled as she watched her son cuddle his pet. Spock nodded but had yet to say anything, his face still set in its stone-hard expression. "Bad?" she asked softly.

His eyes unfocused slightly as he relived what he had witnessed in the ruined village. Swallowing, Spock took a deep breath and nodded. "Worse than I expected." For a moment, he seemed to fight for control, then blinked and looked down at his wife. "I thank my Ancestors and the God of your people that you were taken away quickly from there. It was ... unspeakable."

Christine paled and felt tears fill her eyes. "How many—"

Abruptly Spock grimaced. "Do not ask me!" he snapped. "I cannot speak of it!" He paused and his voice softened. "Not yet." Again he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then looked back at her, more his normal self. "We burned hundreds of bodies last night and Fala'qan said the Prayer over them. It was a terrible job. Especially when we found his ... his mate."

Spock's voice choked and it took him another minute to compose himself. "I retrieved all of our things. They had not been disturbed. I suspect that the Teeli were only interested in killing or taking slaves. They did not want any of the goods or weapons there."

He let the faintest hint of a smile touch one corner of his mouth. "I got your clothing and shoes. You can change."

"Thank God!" she answered, her eyes brightening at the prospect. "Where—"

Spock doffed his heavy load and very nearly groaned with relief. As Christine began to look through the big pack, Spock said, "Here" and took T'Jenn from her.

For a moment, Christine was occupied with retrieving her clothes and moccasins, then silently caught her breath as she saw the way her husband was standing. He had his baby girl cradled tight against his shoulder, his big hands spread beneath her bottom and across her back, his face pressed against her soft brown hair, eyes closed as if praying. Christine didn't dare move, lest she break the spell, then Spock seemed to sense her watching him, for he opened his eyes and gazed solemnly back at her.

"Go and change," he said in almost a whisper. "We're going."

She nodded and moved away to an outcropping of bushes where she could don her leather shirt and leggings and change her loincloth. She was still menstruating and took the opportunity to refresh her absorbent padding and secure it with her leather breech clout.

Feeling better, she returned to find Spock talking with Charlie and Fala'qan. To one side, Sapel and Picku were conversing, Scruffy still clutched in his arms. Spock continued to hold T'Jenn against his shoulder, while she crammed a little fist into her mouth and stared wide-eyed at the two Lemurians.

As Christine joined them, Spock was saying, "I cannot express my regret at the events since we joined you. I feel responsible for all that has happened."

As she stepped close and pressed against her husband, Charlie's answer transmitted to her as well. // _Not so, friend Spock_ ,// the old Lemurian replied. // _The war with Teeli is old. They would come anyway_.//

"Still ... My son—"

// _My sons, too_ ,// Charlie responded. // _Chuk'wu'jok'won took them there. P'Kan'u'lok followed as well as Picku'acka'neech. I am more at blame than you_.//

Spock accepted it and absently rubbed his hand across T'Jenn's back, noting the feathery softness of the infant's skin. "Then we will leave you and wish you well. But I shall grieve long for thee, my good friend."

As the adults spoke, Picku let her long fingers play along Sapel's arm. // _We were foolish_ ,// she said, her mental voice awash with sorrow.

// _What will you do now?_ // he asked.

// _Go into the hills_ ,// she replied. // _Run. Fight. Run again_.//

The boy's dark eyes held her golden ones . // _Will they try to find you?_ //

// _Of course. They are our enemies. We are theirs. They will be coming after us once they grieve their dead. You must go far away, too_.//

Sapel's heart thudded as he envisioned the danger his friend was under. // _I don't want anything to happen to you_ ,// he ventured.

Her eyes flashed and he felt her sudden anger. // _It happens to us always. It is the way of things_.//

He pulled back a little. // _Will I see you again?_ // he asked.

Picku's stance softened. // _Only the spirits can tell. Perhaps_...//

Sapel's attention was drawn to his father. Spock had handed T'Jenn back to Christine and had divided the pack loads into three sets. He was shrugging into his, the largest, then took the baby back as Christine wriggled her backpack into place. Then she took T'Jenn and placed her into the carrying sling across her front.

"Sapel," Spock called. "It is time that we left. Say your goodbyes and come get your pack on."

Realizing that this might be the last time he saw his companion, Sapel turned quickly back and grasped Picku's arm. "I hope we meet again," he said earnestly. "You are the only friend I've ever had."

// _I think we may find each other again_ ,// she answered. // _I don't know when but I will keep hope for you_.//

// _You, too!_ //

Picku suddenly seized Sapel's face between her hands and smashed her nose against his for a second, then licked his mouth with a quick dart of her tongue. // _Be well!_ // she said and then fled, disappearing into the camp.

Stunned, the boy stood motionless then dropped Scruffy to the ground and went to get into his travel gear, his mind whirling at the turn of events. There was an ache within him that he did not know how to identify, but he felt certain that it was the emptiness within him that Picku's departure had left.

His parents were saying their farewells to Char-eek and Fala'qan.

"What now?" Christine was asking.

Fala'qan touched her arm. // _We are warriors. We will continue to strike at them to the last of us. We will not forget our dead ones_.//

She gripped his shoulder and sent, // _I will not forget you ... or your people. Ever_.//

The Teela'u warrior bent his head and then walked away. Christine then turned and embraced Charlie, awkwardly because of her load and their height difference. // _Thank you, dear friend. You will always be in my heart and mind._ //

The old Lemurian did not answer except to convey feelings of warmth to her. He did the same to Spock, then turned and hobbled painfully away. Spock exhaled a sigh and said, "We will go as well."

With that, he headed out of camp, north into the hills that rose up before them. Christine and Sapel fell into step, Scruffy tagging along behind. It didn't take them long to leave the Teela'u encampment behind. The Lemurians too would have moved on by night fall. For an hour, the family walked steadily, following the slope of the climbing hills up onto the plateau-land that stretched away to the horizon, snow-capped mountains just visible.

Eventually, Spock slowed his pace a bit, aware that his wife and son could not keep up with his long-legged stride. Walking at an easier gait, he allowed Christine and Sapel to draw up alongside him, but kept them moving.

They walked in silence for a while, Spock's gaze straight ahead, his face slowly settling into one of grim resolve. His brows bunched together in a frown, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts and disliking them more with every step he took. His teeth were clamped together and his breathing was faster than even his determined pace could account for. Finally Spock said, "Sapel."

"Yes, sir?"

Spock did not turn his eyes away from the route ahead. "What you did was foolish and costly."

"Spock—" Christine began imploringly.

"Quiet, wife!" he interrupted sharply in a tone that warned she must not usurp his authority here. "Do you understand that?" he continued, addressing his son.

"Yes, sir," the boy answered meekly.

"Many died because of your participation. I do not want you to forget that."

"No, sir." Sapel had paled and looked to be on the verge of tears.

Christine tried again. "Spock, he's just a boy—"

"Christine, I ask that you not interrupt me again!" There was such controlled anger in Spock's voice that her heart seized up. Spock returned his attention to his son. "You are old enough to know that your actions have consequences and that bravery and foolhardiness often appear the same at first. You must discern one from the other."

"Yes, sir," Sapel answered softly.

"There is nothing I can do that would punish you adequately for your part in this. Therefore, I leave that to you. You will meditate each night and make your own peace with the souls of those who died. I do not know how long that will take. That is between you and them now."

"Yes, sir." Sapel's voice was barely audible and he fell back to trail behind his parents.

"That was harsh," Christine commented in a soft, hard voice, glaring at her husband.

"Hundreds are dead," Spock answered icily. "Would you have me tell him that everything is all right and he is guiltless in their deaths?"

"But he's just a child, Spock."

"No. He is not. He has passed his _kahs'wan_ and in Vulcan society would begin to accept adult responsibilities."

"This isn't Vulcan," she shot back at him, her face darkening with fury.

Spock glanced at her sharply and it was clear that he had no intention of backing down from his position. "Indeed it is not. It is an even harsher environment that is forcing him to grow up faster than he normally would. I regret that you cannot coddle him and keep him an infant, but that is the way things are." Seeing the obstinate set of her jawline, he went on in an exasperated tone, "He could have been killed, Christine. We _all_ could have been killed! Can you not comprehend the seriousness of that?"

Her eyes were stinging with bitter tears. "Don't you dare speak to me like that, Spock cha'Sarek!" she ground out. "Don't you _ever_ speak to me like that!"

"Then perhaps we should say no more about it," he responded in a like tone and clammed up, his step picking up a bit so that he pulled ahead of her.

"Where are we going anyway?" she demanded of his stiff back.

Spock's voice was tightly controlled as he answered, but filled with the turmoil and anger within him. "As far away from here as possible," he responded. "A _very_ long way away from here!"

 

END OF PART EIGHT

PART NINE – "WALKING IN THE PROMISED LAND" – FOLLOWS

 


	9. Year Nine -- Walking in the Promised Land

**Present Day**

Gradually daylight penetrated the scattered timbers that littered the hillside. The cut and shaped logs had once been a cabin but that fact was hard to distinguish now. Fallen pines and broken deciduous trees nearly obliterated the ruined dwelling and mudslides had wiped away any signs of habitation, leaving little more than deadfall.

Overhead stretched a crystal clear, incongruously blue sky, swept to pristine clarity by the past night's hurricane winds. Birdsong and the gurgle of swollen streams rushing down the hillside were the only sounds, underlain by the soft whisper of the distant ocean lapping onto a scoured beach. Higher up, detritus lay thickly amid the downed trees, but on the beach itself, the waves had taken back to sea nearly all that it had brought in with the storm surge.

Down near the jutting cliffs, the body of a large marine animal lolled in the surf and already was the source of contention between ocean-dwelling scavengers and those of the land. But the sounds of their squabble was too far away to disturb the birds that had returned to search out their destroyed nest sites in the former clearing.

As the dawn wore on into full morning, a log in the pile abruptly moved, scattering the birds to flight. The log lifted, shunted to one side and fell back, revealing a human hand. Or a Vulcan hand, in actuality, for the scrapes and cuts that marred it bled green, streaking through the dirt and mud that covered it. It was joined by another that grasped the next log and strained to move it as well. This resulted in an opening and a dirty, disheveled, black-haired man emerged, forcing his way to freedom, almost like a hatchling emerging from a nesting burrow.

Out in the open at last, Spock lay catching his breath for a long minute, his vision still blurry and his head still pounding from the blow he'd received the night before when the cabin had collapsed. Christine and the three children were still buried underneath the fallen structure, their only hope of survival lying in the fact that all had been huddled up under the rock overhang that formed a section of the back side of the cabin.

There was a scrabbling sound and Spock forced his eyes to seek its source. A few seconds later, their pet hunting cat, Scruffy, clawed her way out of the debris, her black-spotted golden fur nearly covered with mud. Looking around wildly, she gave a scratchy meow and then leaped nimbly away over the piled timbers and disappeared from sight.

Spock thought no more about the little animal. She had proven again and again that she could fend for herself, although she chose to stay with her "family" when not away hunting. Wearily, the Vulcan got to his feet, balancing precariously, and began the task of digging out his wife and children. As he did so, he spared a thought toward the home they had lost in the storm and to another that he had built far away...

* * *

**Year Nine**

The morning fog had lifted and had nearly burned away, but the long grass through which Spock waded was still wet with dew and soaked his leather moccasins and leggings. Behind him, Christine picked her way along the trail he had made, the baby peeking curiously out from the carry cloth across her mother's front. In the rear, Sapel trod the same pathway, keeping an eye out for Scruffy, who was hunting mice in the grass.

They had been wandering for a month now after escaping Lemuria, intent on getting back to their valley home, but delayed by heavy rains and swollen rivers, so that they were forced farther and farther north as they searched for a way across to the east. So far, they had been thwarted, for the early summer downpours had caused the rivers and creeks to jump their banks, spreading out over their flood plains and forming an impenetrable barrier. Instead, the travelers had taken to the higher ground of the foothills, climbing more toward the mountains. The peaks stretched along the western horizon, then took a "S" curve to the east and then marched on to the north. The streams and rivers that ran from their slopes were becoming more numerous, forming the upper branches of the big river they'd been following for days now. Spock was beginning to think they were going to have to go all the way to its headwaters before it would be narrow enough for them to cross.

Summer was advancing steadily and he was also worried about such things as permanent shelter, enough food to feed them through the winter, clothing and other necessary provisions. They had not taken any more than they could carry when they had left the Teela'u and Spock had done his best to hunt as they journeyed north. Fortunately, it was a time of plenty, with spring calves and foals doubling the population of the herds of game animals, and he had no problem securing enough food for their needs.

But they would have to find a place to settle soon if they didn't make it back to the valley with the next two or three weeks. He had no intention of taking them back to Sea Home for at least a year. The war between the Teela'u and their rivals, the Teeli, made that impossible. There was also the possibility that the Teeli were looking for them, to exact revenge for the death of their leader, Su'a, and Spock would not subject his family to that sort of danger. In any case, no matter what the political situation in the south, getting back to the valley or finding a new place to live was increasingly imperative.

Spock paused atop a hummock and surveyed the terrain before them, his keen eyesight searching out obstacles and dangers as well as any game. They were low on food. He would need to hunt very soon.

Christine joined him and the two stood, the breeze ruffling their hair. "What a lovely place," she commented, hoisting T'Jenn up free of the carry cloth so that the baby could see. She was seven months old now and beginning to crawl when she got the chance. A big baby at birth, she had continued to gain weight steadily and was now quite a burden for her mother to carry. Christine parked the child on her hip and eased her back a little as they stood.

"Indeed," Spock answered, squinting against the wind. "The rains have made it quite lush. I see a herd of grazers across the valley there. I can't make out what they are, however."

"Do you want to find a camp then and stay for a few days?" his wife asked, aware of their need to replenish their supplies.

"I believe it would be a good idea," he answered. He looked over the gentle valley and then pointed. "There. That spot at the base of the hill appears to be sheltered. There are trees and I can see a stream. We'll head for there and make camp if it is suitable."

"Okay. Sounds good to me." Christine slipped T'Jenn back into her sling and took up her walking stick. "Sapel!" she called to her son, who was exploring off to one side. "Don't get lost!"

"I won't, Mama!" he called back. "Scruffy's caught a rabbit! I'm just gonna get it."

Spock and Christine waited until the boy came running back, clutching the cat's kill by its long hind legs. "Look! This'll be a good lunch!"

"Wonderful! Be sure and give her the innards," the woman reminded him.

"I always do." Sapel bent to scratch his pet between the ears. "Good girl, Scruff!"

The hunting cat purred and followed close behind her young master as the family set off again. Abruptly, though, she halted and her tufted black ears shot to attention, her green eyes huge as she turned all her senses toward something she had detected. Quivering, she stood rapt for several long moments, then uttered a soft meow. Then, just as quickly, she shot after her family and stayed close to them for the rest of the morning.

* * *

The buck jumped wildly to one side and disappeared an instant before the shaft thunked into the tree trunk behind it.

" _Pekhaya!_ " Spock said in exasperation, causing Christine to laugh reflexively at his language, but then followed him up the slope as he went to retrieve his arrow.

"What?" Sapel wanted to know.

"Oh, Papa said a bad word," his mother answered but didn't elaborate. They'd been traveling all day and had happened upon the deer in its daytime lay-up. Spock immediately had an arrow nocked and drawn, but the deer was even quicker than he was and had now vanished as if it had never existed.

Christine and Sapel joined him as Spock was working the arrow point loose from the tree trunk. "Bad luck," she commiserated.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," he responded, examining the broken stone point. "It was a matter of reflex and speed. The buck simply reacted faster than I did." He stuffed the damaged arrow back into his quiver. "Shall we move on? I would like to find a place to make camp fairly soon."

The threesome continued up the easy incline toward the ridge above them, Spock helping his wife a bit as she puffed from her double load of her backpack and T'Jenn's carry sling. But she couldn't help grinning at him. "What was that word you used again?" she teased, knowing full well what it meant.

"Never mind," he answered, refusing to look at her. "I did not intend to use an expletive such as that."

"My, my. I'm shocked that words like that even exist in Vulkhansu!"

He gave her a sideways glance in reproval then turned his attention to their surroundings. They were threading their way through an unusual number of downed trees, all of them extremely old and decayed, with the new but fully mature growth pushing up between and through them, towering to a height of thirty feet or more. All of the fallen timber was lying aligned in the same direction as if it had been blown down by a strong wind, but clearly it was something that had occurred a very long time ago. The forest they were traversing showed all the signs of being hundreds of years old, completely recovered from whatever had befallen its predecessor.

Christine noticed it as well and remarked, "What do you suppose happened here?"

Spock shook his head. "A wind storm, perhaps, or slope failure, or—" They topped the ridge.

"Or a volcano!" Christine exclaimed.

The three people halted in amazement as they stared at the vista spreading before them. Stretching away below them was a huge, shallow, bowl-shaped depression, easily ten miles wide, thickly forested and surrounding a wide, crystal-blue lake that nestled at its heart. The forest was broken here and there by open meadowland, frosted with a covering of white, yellow and pink flowers, in places running right down to the waterline. From the hillside to their left, clear streams rushed down to the lake and, far to their right, they could see where the lake overflowed a natural dam to form the beginnings of the river they had been following for so long.

But it was what loomed in the distance, perhaps thirty miles away, that drew their eyes inexorably upward. Rising majestically into the clear air, symmetrical and perfect, was a gigantic conical mountain, its summit crowned with snow, clouds drifting around its peak. They could see the green of forest crowding halfway up its slopes, then giving way to grayish-brown rock before being overtopped by its glacial cap. Behind it, more peaks marched away into the purple distance, but this one stood alone in its grandeur. They hadn't been able to see it before because of the thick forest they'd traversed.

Sapel made an awe-struck sound, his eyes wide, as Christine breathed, "It's gorgeous! My God! It reminds me of Mt. Hood or Mt. Fuji!"

"Or Seleya," Spock agreed softly, also caught with the beauty of the landscape. "It's like Mt. Seleya on Vulcan. It's the only mountain on Vulcan high enough to have snow."

Somehow they managed to drag their enraptured gazes away from the peak and survey the valley that lay before them. Even from this distance they could see herds of elk grazing in the clearings and flocks of water fowl congregated on the lake. Here and there, the water's surface rippled and splashed as fish leapt for insects. Patches of color among the trees hinted at ripening fruit and dense stands of reeds grew along the water's edge.

Christine reached out and took her husband's hand, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Paradise, Spock," she whispered. "We've stumbled on Paradise."

* * *

Holding T'Jenn firmly, Christine tested the water temperature with her bare foot. The lake waters were cool, but not too much so after absorbing the heat of the summer sun. The afternoon had been sweltering and Jenny fretting from the heat and another emerging tooth, finally prompting Christine to decide that they both could use a swim. Dressed in her leather halter and loincloth, the woman waded slowly out until she was waist-deep and smiled at the startled little squeal her baby gave as the water touched the infant's bare bottom.

"Now ... isn't that nice?" Christine asked, bobbing T'Jenn up and down a bit to get her used to the temperature and feel. "It's too bad your dad and brother aren't here. I'll bet they're all hot and sweaty and dirty right now."

"Hot and dirty at least," came a deep baritone from the shore and Christine spun around to see her husband standing at the water's edge, an amused expression on his handsome face.

"I didn't hear you come back," Christine answered with a welcoming smile. "Did you do well?"

"Yes, we bagged a nice two-year buck," Spock answered. "The antlers won't be of much use, but the rest should furnish us with a good deal of material. And it should be fairly tender as well."

"Well, I'm sure we'll find a use for the antlers, too. Nearly everything is good for something," his wife answered and then asked, "Where's Sapel?"

"He shot a gopher mouse and brought it back for Scruffy." Spock raised an eyebrow and commented, "Although I believe she is quite capable of hunting for herself."

"Well, she's welcome to those rats. They're no good for eating and they just chew up things and contaminate them." Christine grimaced. The burrowing rodents were one of the down sides to their almost idyllic new home. They were everywhere and got into everything.

Fortunately, Scruffy was an enthusiastic mouser and kept the camp fairly free of the little animals. The hunting cat had grown sleek and fully mature with the coming of high summer. About the dimensions of a medium-sized dog, her black-spotted golden coat blended in perfectly with the shadows and colors of the yellowing grasslands and underbrush of the woods. She had begun to disappear for two or three days at a time, but always returned purring and happy to see them.

Spock tilted his head a bit as he peered at his wife, his fists parked on his hips, and Christine mimicked his posture as best she could while holding the baby. He was absolutely magnificent, she decided. Tall and lean, clad in buckskin leggings and loin cloth, but shirtless from the waist up, his skin was a rich bronze with the greenish patina he acquired when deeply tanned.

His raven-black hair had grown out once more halfway down his back and now moved about his powerful shoulders as the slight breeze toyed with it. Christine found herself experiencing the familiar tightening between her legs and his twitch of one eyebrow showed that he had felt it, too. "Why don't you join us for a swim?" she invited him.

"I do need to begin work on that buck," Spock replied, but there was no real conviction in his voice.

"It'll keep for a little while," she retorted, her blue eyes half-hooded in temptation.

"Indeed," he replied in a whisper, his mouth pulling into a little smile. "A short swim would be rather refreshing."

Without further commentary, he slipped out of his leggings and moccasins, leaving them lying on the grassy bank, laid his knife scabbard atop them, within easy reach, and strode into the water, still wearing his loincloth.

Reaching Christine, he drew her into a loose embrace and kissed her soundly. When they drew apart, he murmured, "Were I not afraid that Sapel would join us momentarily, I would do far more than simply kiss you."

"Spock!" she admonished, laughing. "Not in front of the baby! My goodness, have you no shame?"

"Not when it has been such a long time since I have possessed you, wife," he responded in a throaty rumble, pulling her close again. "If I am forced to wait much longer, then I may declare myself _kholinarhu_ and take a vow of celibacy."

"Don't you dare," she whispered back, kissing him with determination.

They were interrupted by a whoop and a splash and Sapel was suddenly with them, naked and full of energy. "Papa! C'mon! Race ya!" The boy struck out immediately for the little island that rose up about two hundred yards off shore.

"It seems I am challenged," Spock sighed. He launched himself after his son, swimming strongly in order to catch the brown streak already far ahead of him.

Christine turned with T'Jenn to watch them. "Men are so silly!" she told her daughter conversationally. Jenny made a burbling comment in return, her blue eyes wide. "Well, we're here to relax, aren't we? Let's you and I have a little splishy-splash and then stretch out in the shade for a nap, shall we?"

T'Jenn seemed to find that an excellent idea and Christine took them into a little deeper water so that her baby girl could get thoroughly drenched from the safety of her mother's arms.

* * *

Spock was already in bed when Christine finally got T'Jenn down, checked on Sapel in his own tent to make sure he slept, and took care of her before-bed chores. As she started to let the tent flap down, Spock said quietly from the darkness, "Leave it up. It's too warm tonight to close it and besides I enjoy the view from here."

Christine turned and gazed out at the moonlight shimmering on the lake and smiled. "Yes, it's gorgeous tonight. The moons are a day or so from full and it's really bright out."

"That's not the view I was referring to," he answered in the low rumble that sent chills over her with its implications. "You, silhouetted against the moonlight, is what I was enjoying."

"Oh!" she responded with a startled little laugh, then her voice dropped into a throaty purr. "Then perhaps I should give you something to look at."

Stepping back so that the silvery moonlight illuminated her, Christine struck a seductive pose and held still for a long moment. She couldn't see Spock in the darkness, but she could feel his eyes on her nevertheless. Making sure that she had his undivided attention, she methodically began to unbraid her waist-length hair, all the while maintaining her gaze with him. Spock sat up cross-legged on the soft leather sleeping hide, his interest apparent, even in the gloom of the tent.

Reaching the top of her braid and running her fingers loosely through the mass to separate the strands, Christine bent over and shook the sun-streaked tresses freely then flung her head back so that her plait-crinkled hair fell in a long cascade about her.

The moonlight reflected softly off the flowing surface as if it were wind-rippled water. Pausing for effect, she then reached behind her and slowly worked at untying the knot that secured her halter top. She took a maddeningly long time about it, but Spock never took his eyes from her. After a while, the knot came loose and the halter dangled free, still hiding her breasts but tantalizingly so. She then brought her arms up and slipped them behind her neck, pulling open the knot there.

When it came free, she held the rawhide strands to keep it from falling and pressed the garment to her. Slowly, making certain he was watching, Christine let the halter drop away and fall to the ground, baring her ample bust. Already full, her breasts were swollen from nursing and jutted proudly from her chest. Playfully, she ran her hands over them, gently cupping and lifting them, teasing him with their generous size. Her large nipples protruded farther as she fondled them and she could feel them oozing droplets of milk, even though she had suckled T'Jenn before putting her to bed.

Coyly, Christine smiled and pushed her breasts together and up. "Like the view?" she asked.

"Very much so," Spock murmured in a low voice. "But is that all I get to see?"

"What else do you _want_ to see?" she prompted him.

"Part of the landscape is still obscured," he responded. "I _would_ like to view that as well."

"Oh, you would, hmm?" Smiling, she turned her back on him, presenting him with her shapely hips and proceeded to repeat the torturous process of untying the belt knot on her right side, loosening the rawhide strip that secured her loin cloth. When this finally came loose, Christine looked over her right shoulder at her husband and allowed the belt to fall and the back flap of the loincloth with it.

The smooth, creamy hemispheres of her buttocks presented themselves, although the cloth was still clenched tightly between her thighs. She leaned forward a little more, thrusting her butt a bit more in his direction and slowly moved her hips from side to side. Then, with deliberate motions, she straightened and turned to face him, opening her legs a little as she did so. The long leather strap of her loincloth slid free as she pulled it from between her legs in a blatantly provocative move. Finally it was gone and she dropped it to the ground behind her.

She now stood naked before her eagerly watching husband and once more paused to allow him full effect. "Is the view better now?" she murmured, running her palms slowly up and down her body.

"Not only is the view much improved," Spock answered, "but I feel compelled to explore it closer."

Christine made a delighted sound in her throat and glided toward him, ducking back into the tent until she was positioned before him. The reflected moonlight bathed Spock's body faintly and she could see now that he too was nude. He was also quite aroused, judging from the interesting shapes she could make out in the darkness.

He reached up to place his hands on her hips and pulled her closer to him, and she had to move her feet apart so that she stood astraddle his legs. It was exactly what he wanted, for it put her pubic area in front of his face and opened her to his searching mouth. As her rich feminine odor flooded his olfactory senses, he pressed his lips against her soft flesh and slipped his tongue into the cleft of her sex.

Christine staggered but he held her steady, driving her nearly mad with his oral explorations of her sensitive center. Kissing, licking, tasting, he ran his tongue over and around her swollen nub, finally sucking her into his mouth and working her gently but thoroughly in its hot, wet recesses. Finally, she could stand it no longer, for her trembling legs were about to collapse underneath her and she pushed him away. Nearly panting with arousal, she put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and sank down astride his lap, her thighs hugging his hips and her knees bent in a kneeling position. Heat and hardness prodded into her as she settled against him, sliding her arms around his neck. His large, strong hands moved up her back, fiery against her skin, and he pulled her close, capturing her mouth in a long, fervent kiss.

She could taste herself on his mouth and tongue, further exciting her, and she pumped her hips against his pelvis, allowing the head of his erection to slide back and forth against her wetness. His engorged organ throbbed hungrily and seemed to be searching for the threshold of her vagina. Playfully, she would not allow him access. Not yet.

Spock picked up her teasing spirit and wriggled underneath her, responding to her game. He pulled back from their kiss, his face suffused with wide smile. Gazing into her eyes, he whispered in an almost enraptured tone, "You are so beautiful to me. More beautiful than anything I've ever known." He drew her close again, his tongue probing past her lips, dancing and dueling with her own. She sank against him, stilling the movements of her pelvis.

The wonderful hardness between her legs abruptly found its goal, locking into her. They both moaned against the other's mouth, the sound coming as if from one throat, then abruptly Spock rolled her onto her back and shoved his hips forward. He was buried within her in that single move and began to thrust even as she gasped and arched up against him. She hadn't expected it so soon and the entry took her by surprise, but it quickly turned into a breathless excitement and grew with his almost frantic thrusts.

With almost equal speed, he soared to a resounding climax and slammed deep within her, freezing, and she felt him flood the depths of her center, hot as lava within her. Breathing hard, he paused to gather himself and then bent to kiss her soundly, still buried to the hilt. The firmness and fullness of his erection had not dwindled at all with his ejaculation, merely taken the urgency from his actions, and he now began to move softly inside her once more, slowly this time, tenderly, a gentle massaging that made her shudder and catch her breath.

For a long moment, they held each other's eyes, what they could see of each other in the dark tent, then he picked up the pace of his strokes. Her excitement was climbing rapidly back up when she felt his fingers position themselves on her face.

 _Yes!!_ she shouted mentally, whether to him or to herself she wasn't sure, but then he was truly within her, filling her body and soul in a way that only a mind meld could bring. Suddenly, it was full daylight and they were alone by the beautiful lake, stretched beneath the sunlight and moving clouds, joined together in every way.

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, his hips stilling for only the moment it took to reposition themselves, then he resumed thrusting up into her, as strongly as ever. Christine reared back and lifted her arms to push her hair out of her face.

This brought her breasts up and completely exposed, her pink areolae and nipples extended in full arousal. His hands were covering them at once, squeezing, massaging, kneading. She dropped back down, propped on her stiffened arms, and he raised his head to reach her, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth and tonguing her expertly.

Milk formed and dripped from her other breast and he quickly switched to that one, suckling her as if he were a babe. It was too much. The sensations and sight of his dark head bent to her sent her over the edge and her body gripped his plunging penis in a spasm of ecstasy, intensely aware of every centimeter of his heaving flesh, every vein, every ridge. She threw back her head and screamed.

Her orgasm triggered his and he thrust up beneath her, his hips lifting hers off the ground, as he exploded inside her once more. Lightning crackled between the clouds overhead and the ground shook beneath them, the wind picking up suddenly to whip the lake waters into white-capped frenzy. On the horizon, the volcano erupted in a plinian column of fire and smoke, its snowy peak disappearing in the conflagration.

Then they were back in the darkness of their bull-hide tent, Christine astride her husband's hips and the star-flecked night outside as calm and moonlit as ever. Spock had his eyes closed and was working to regulate his breathing, his chest still rising and falling from his exertions.

She slipped off him and snuggled against his side, pulling his face over to kiss him gently. "Wow," she said. "That was good."

"Indeed," he panted.

She giggled softly. "That erupting volcano was a little ... Um ... obvious, wasn't it, though? Why not a train going through a tunnel or fountain shooting up?"

"It seemed appropriate, considering our current location."

"I suppose so." She slipped an arm over his chest and settled down to sleep. "Next time, though, try to think of something a little less conventional. How about ... Uh ... a nova exploding? Or a ship going into high warp? Or maybe photon torpedoes shooting out of a forward tube?"

"The forward tube? Not the rear?"

She slapped him lightly. "What a typically grotesque, male thing to say! Go to sleep! Rear tube, indeed!"

He chuckled despite himself and pulled his wife into his arms.

* * *

"Mama, look at this rock I found," Sapel said, holding out his hand.

Christine straightened from her position on her knees where she was digging tubers with a stout pointed stick. T'Jenn was sitting on a spread ground cloth nearby, playing with a small set of carved wooden blocks, stacking one or two and then giggling in delight when they toppled.

"What have you got, baby?" Christine asked her son, pushing her sweaty hair off her forehead.

Sapel handed her a hunk of glassy, black rock. "Watch it. It's sharp," he said.

"Obsidian," his mother answered, looking it over. "Where did you get this?"

"Over on that slope. There's lots of it."

She nodded. "Show Papa when he gets back. I think he'll want to know about this." She gave her son back the rock.

"Why's that, Mama?"

"Obsidian makes good arrow points and knife blades, although it's pretty brittle. But it's easy to work and is very sharp."

The boy nodded and placed the piece of obsidian back into his pouch. "Scruffy 'n me's going hunting," he said, catching up his bow.

"Be careful and don't go too far," Christine warned him.

"We're not. There's a rabbit warren up in the rocks. We're gonna see if we can bag a few of them."

"Okay. Be back before dark." Christine watched her son lope away with his golden hunting cat on his heels. He was growing up so fast, she mused. And that thought triggered a less pleasant one, of Spock's words to her the day they had left Lemuria. Her fond smile faded and an irritated frown replaced it.

Sapel had been very quiet and depressed for a month after his father's harsh words to him regarding the disastrous events in the Teeli village. Spock and Christine had exchange quite a few harsh words themselves, neither of them budging an inch in their positions. Christine maintained that he had been much too hard on their son, placing the full burden of guilt on his young shoulders for his actions in bringing about the massacre of the Teela'u. Spock would not back down, saying that Sapel must settle things between himself and the souls of those lost.

"You've gotten awfully religious all of a sudden," Christine had commented acerbically.

Spock had not dignified that with an answer and, indeed, hadn't spoken to her for two days.

"Fine," she'd responded to his silence. "Pout all you want. See if I give a shit."

"You have a bad habit of allowing your speech to become vulgar when you're angry, you know," he told her coldly.

"Fuck off," she snapped back, deliberately confrontational.

After that, they had traveled in icy silence, speaking only when they had to. But after a week or so, the rigors of their journey and the innate love they shared had thawed the glacial distance between them. By the time they had come upon their current campsite, things were back to normal, although all three of them harbored the dregs of their experience deep within.

Christine bent back to laboriously digging cattail tubers from the edge of the lake. The plants were useful in every one of their parts. The root tubers were edible and tasted a bit like turnips. The stems could be woven into baskets and mats, or if chopped and steeped in boiling water, made a healing wash for scratches and cuts. The tuft of fuzz on the tip of the plant was collected and used as absorbent packing for T'Jenn's diapers or the pads Christine used when menstruating.

That brought yet another troubling thought. By her calculations, she should have started her period three days ago. Her periods were still erratic because of T'Jenn's nursing and the hardship of traveling. She hadn't thought she was ovulating when she and Spock made love, but it was just possible that she had been. She felt a note of panic bloom deep inside at the chance that she might have conceived. She did not want another baby. Not only was she still burdened with a suckling infant, but the memory of T'Jenn's difficult birth was fresh in her mind.

 _Not again_ , she thought to herself. _I can't go through that again. I'm 40 ... or as close as I can figure ... and I simply cannot do it again. I'm too old!_

Another little voice in her head answered her. _Nonsense. Women have babies into their 60's. You're still a young woman._

 _I feel 60 sometimes_, she admonished herself. _No. If it turns out I'm not pregnant, then I'll make sure I stay that way. Spock won't like it ... what I'm going to have to do ... but he'll just have to live with it. I will. Until pon farr. I'll have to let him then, but that won't happen for ... what? Five years? And then ... Well, I'll just cross that bridge when I come to it._

With resolution, Christine mentally squared her shoulders and dug up another reed tuber.

* * *

Sapel silently brought his bow up, drew and let the arrow fly. About six meters away, the rock hare leaped with a squeal, then fell, shuddering convulsively. Racing to his quarry, Sapel saw that the animal was mortally wounded but not dead. For a second, the boy hesitated, then on inspiration, pulled the hunk of obsidian from his pouch.

The edge of the black volcanic glass was razor sharp and Sapel knelt to quickly and cleanly slit the rabbit's throat. Pleased with his make-shift knife, Sapel decided to make himself a proper weapon. His parents both carried metal knives and regarded them as their most precious possessions. Papa was always talking about how Sapel was nearly grown now. Well, a man deserved to be armed and ready for any situation. He'd made himself the weapons he needed.

Scruffy was crouched beside her master, her nostrils wide and delicately sniffing the rich scent of the rabbit's blood. Suddenly she sat bolt upright and stared up the hillside, her ears stiff and intent. Ready for danger, Sapel followed her gaze and immediately saw what had riveted Scruffy's attention.

On the crest of the hill was another hunting cat, larger, more muscular, and sporting a ruff of black cheek whiskers. After a moment of silent staring, it uttered a gruff sound and Scruffy immediately answered with a chirp. Then she leapt forward, scrambling away up the hill to the other. Just before she reached him, the male disappeared over the crest. Without looking back at Sapel, she followed the other hunting cat and was gone.

* * *

Spock roused himself from sleep as Christine slipped into the furs beside him. It was still dark, near dawn if his inner time sense was reliable, and it usually was. The moons had all set but the incipient first hint of morning hung in the air, the pre-light that promised of the new made day. The woman didn't speak as she snuggled back into the bed, her back towards her husband. He could sense the stiffness in her body and turned so that he was spooned against her. But as he slipped his hand over her waist, she flinched and tightened still further.

"Don't," she said in a low voice.

"What's wrong?" he asked, unable to read through her shields. Christine had learned over their years together to wall herself off as efficiently as any Vulcan and now Spock regretted that he could only sense feelings of agitation from her.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep," she responded.

He raised himself on one elbow and peered down at her through the darkness, his superior night vision picking her features out well enough to see the tears tracking down her cheeks.

"Christine, tell me what's wrong," he insisted gently. "Are you ill?"

She gave a sigh that turned into a sob. "No. I just had to go to the latrine, that's all. I ... I started my period."

Spock made a little sound of acknowledgment deep in his throat. "I thought that you wished for this to happen," he said.

"Of course I did!"

"Then why are you crying?"

"Oh, you never understand anything!"

That struck him mute for a moment as he pondered the complexities of Human women. "Then you did not wish to have your monthly function?"

"Just go to sleep," she said wearily as if to end the discussion.

Spock lay back down, snugged against her, and deliberately slipped his arm over her waist. Again she tensed, but he refused to release her this time.

"I don't want to have sex," she told him after a moment. "Not now... not..." She almost said "ever" but changed it in mid-sentence to "...when I'm bleeding."

"But I can hold my wife, can I not?" his soft deep voice queried close to her ear. "I can find comfort in her closeness, can't I?" She sighed shakily and he felt her relax, although her distress came through her yielding blocks. He let her cry quietly for a while as the dawn slowly lightened the eastern sky from black to indigo to powder. When he felt the tension leaving her at last, he reached up to stroke her hair and asked, "Can you tell me now why you are so upset?"

She didn't answer for a moment then whispered, "No. Yes. I don't know."

"It must be one or the other," he answered with a tender amusement touching his voice.

She had to laugh just a little and sniffled. "My hormones are all torn up right now. I was afraid I was pregnant again and I don't ... I mean, I wanted not to be. But when I felt the cramping and got up to use the latrine, I saw that I'd started and..." Her voice caught then steadied. "I didn't realize how deep down the instinct to have a child could be. It hit me like I'd lost another one."

Her chin quivered again and the tears welled back up. Spock pulled her closer and held her in his warm embrace. "I knew that you were not pregnant, _t'hyla_. I would not have allowed you to conceive again when you had stated so emphatically—"

"Don't tell me that oversized schnozz of yours was sniffing my scent again," she retorted, smiling through her tears.

His eyebrows went up. "My nose is not oversized!" he protested.

She squirmed in his arms until she was on her back looking up at him. "It is _so_ oversized! You could out-track a bloodhound with that thing!"

He peered back with offended dignity. "The Vulcan sense of smell is superior to Humans and our noses tend to be larger than Humans' because the atmosphere on Vulcan is thinner—"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," she smiled, cutting off his lecture, laughing a little. She wiped her tears off her cheeks. "My moods are irrational right now. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Ignore me. I'll be all right."

"Yes," Spock replied softly and bent to kiss her. "I know you will. And I know that you do not wish any more children, beloved. I will honor that wish."

She hesitated, suddenly afraid to speak. But she had to say it, to make it clear. "Even if ... Even if that means we ... we must not make love ... Ever again?"

He sighed and his large, warm hand caressed her cheek. "I have told you, Christine, that a Vulcan male can endure a state of celibacy until _pon farr_ occurs. The story of Vulcans having sexual relations only every seven years has a basis in fact. Many Vulcans are celibate until nature forces them to take a mate. If that is your wish ... then I will abide by it."

She peered up at him and once more her eyes shown with wetness. She shook her head. "No, it is not my wish! I just don't see any other way. I can't go through another pregnancy, Spock, I just can't."

Seeing her distress return full force, he drew her close and held her. "Then there will be no others. I promise it. In any case, are there not more ways to engage in sex than vaginal penetration?"

That made her laugh again. "Oh, endless ways! I'm just afraid to tempt fate!"

"Do you fear that I cannot control myself should we engage in those ways?" he teased her gently.

"Oh, I know you can control yourself. But who's going to control _me_?" she grinned up into his beloved face.

A whimper from nearby sounded, then turned into a lusty cry as T'Jenn awoke to hunger and a wet diaper. Spock jerked his head slightly in his daughter's direction. "That will," he smiled wryly and sighed. "I will get the fire built up and start breakfast preparations while you tend to the last of our children."

Christine pulled him down into a fervent kiss, then let him go, moving to see to the needs of her baby.

* * *

The axe bit into the tree trunk with a solid "thunk," sending chips flying and shaking down a shower of pine needles onto the sweating, shirtless man below. Spock worked the flint blade loose, drew back and let fly another telling blow. This time the pine cracked, shifted and slowly toppled to the ground with a crash, sending up a cloud of debris.

Spock wiped his face with a leather-gloved hand and surveyed his work with satisfaction. After a full week of labor, he had felled enough trees to begin work on the new home he was building for them. Christine had pointed out its necessity and, in truth, he had already been mulling over the design and supplies he would have to make and gather.

All summer they had lived in their bull-hide tents, but the year was passing and autumn wasn't far away. Christine had been working diligently on preparations for the coming winter. As fruits and grains ripened, she and Sapel spent long hours gathering and transporting as much as they could carry in the baskets she had woven from the cattail reeds. They gathered the nuts falling from the many trees in the area, dug tubers and roots, picked sweet berries from the vines that covered the hills (enduring the pricks and scratches of the tiny thorns), and even risked raiding a bee tree to steal the precious honey that lay within.

Spock divided his time between hunting the red deer that inhabited the valley and in helping his wife with the food preparations. They cut and smoked thin strips of meat into jerky, processed the bones and antlers into tools, stretched and tanned the hides into leather and warm winter clothing, and pounded the rendered fat into a paste mixed with fruit and nuts to form a nutritious, long lasting food.

But none of this addressed their need for sturdy and weather-proof shelter that would keep out the cold and snow. A plan took shape in the back of Spock's mind and he set off one day with his flint-bladed axe and the material to make more blades as they dulled and grew useless. He would have given nearly anything for a good steel axe-head, but dismissed it immediately. It was impossible, therefore no use in wanting what could not be had.

The last tree felled, Spock now began trimming it, chopping the branching limbs from the ‑main trunk until he had a long, straight log, roughly twenty feet in length. He estimated a mid-point and set to work chopping the tree trunk into two equal portions, each about ten feet long. He had the rhythm down now after preparing several dozen others, and made short work of his task. Afterwards, he paused once more and took a drink from his water bag, the cleaned and preserved stomach of a deer. The midday sun was fierce, but he relished its heat soaking into his Vulcan bones, reminding him subtly of the glorious heat of his homeland. For a split second, he paused as nostalgia washed over him for its deserts and hills, the wind whistling over the mesas, the salt devils whirling up into the clear ochre sky… Then he shook that off as unproductive and went back to his job.

He lashed leather tracings onto the log, slipped into its harness, and dragged the first log to the location he had chosen to build their cabin. After returning for the other, he caught his breath and looked over the building.

It wasn't a cabin, strictly speaking, but a type of hogan and the design was universal in its simplicity and strength. Octagonal in shape, made of logs that overlapped at each angle, the hogan resembled the dwellings of the Aes, a people of the Northern Deserts of Vulcan. The type of dwelling was also found among the peoples of the Southwest American deserts, used both as homes and as holy places of worship. The one Spock was building was about fifteen feet across inside, roomy but at the same time snug. The walls were now about four feet in height and would ultimately rise another foot before the roof was put on.

This was the most difficult part, for the rough-hewn slats Spock would need to cut would overlay one another and fall gently back until the roof became a slightly conical structure, held in place by weaving them with braided leather ropes and lashed to the upright poles that formed the corner anchors. At the top a smoke hole would be left open, this capped by a little chimney made of a hollowed out tree stump. It would serve as a baffle for rain and would also accelerate the draw of the chimney as wind blew over the top, pulling air up the vent.

A door had been left open facing the lake and this would be fitted with a leather and lumber door that Spock would build once the hogan was finished. And he had built Christine something else into the hogan walls … a window. During warm weather this would be open for ventilation and light, but he also had an idea for a "pane." He had noticed that the intestines of the red deer, sliced open, stretched and allowed to dry, were remarkably translucent. Not really transparent, but enough to serve as a covering for the window. And for deep winter, he would make a sturdy wooden covering to keep the cold at bay.

As the sun moved lower toward the western horizon, Spock heard Christine and children approaching, back from their latest gathering foray, and he paused to watch them come. Scruffy was with them, returned from her week-long absence, padding along at Sapel's side, her golden coat shining in the late afternoon sun. She scampered down to the lake shore and crouched to lap water thirstily.

"Hello, honey," Christine greeted her husband and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I thought you'd like to take a break and have a snack." She shifted T'Jenn more securely onto her hip and fished in her carry pouch, producing a fresh fruit like a peach and a folded tortilla, left over from that morning's breakfast.

Spock took them gratefully and they sat down in the shade beneath a large spreading tree they had dubbed an oak because of its acorn-like nuts. Christine put T'Jenn, who was now toddling, down to stand in the short grass. The baby swayed for a few seconds, then got her balance and stood watching her brother and his pet.

"Mama!" Sapel called. "Can I go swimming?"

"I suppose. Not for too long, though."

The boy whooped and immediately stripped naked, racing into the water with a huge splash and paddling out about fifty feet. Scruffy stared at him for a few moments, then pointedly turned her back and strolled to where her other "family" sat. The baby gurgled happily and made a grab for her, but the hunting cat deftly side-stepped the little hands and moved instead to curl up next to Christine, wrapping her tail about her. T'Jenn attempted to follow, lost her balance and sat down hard on her bottom, her expression flicking from surprise to outrage and then to happiness once more as she found an acorn in the grass before her and began to play with that.

Christine laughed and settled back contentedly. "The hut's going well," she commented, nodding toward the half-finished building.

Spock agreed, taking a bite from the peach and chewing the juicy fruit. "I should be ready to begin splitting the roof slats in a few days. I hope to have it ready for occupancy before the next new moons."

"How long until cold weather, do you suppose?"

"I do not know. About a month, I would estimate. The fruits and other plants are ripe, but the deciduous leaves have not yet begun to show signs of turning. And there is no predicting the weather," he shrugged. "We could experience a cold front within a couple of weeks, or the cold weather could hold off for two to three months."

"Well, I _hope_ it holds off. The longer we have to prepare, the better. I don't know why, but something tells me the winter might be a long one."

Spock cast an eye her way and lifted one brow. "Ah, your grandmother's bones are aching again, then?"

She hit him on the arm. "Stop making fun of my _Ancestor_ ," she stated pointedly. "What do your Ancestors tell you?"

"That dead women's bones do not ache," he answered back with a twinkle in his deep brown eyes. "That is illogical. It is more logical to observe the plants and animals for signs of winter's coming."

"Yeah, Granny Chapel used to say basically the same thing, and anyway it's not _her_ bones that ache. It's mine!" Christine lifted her arms above her head and stretched elaborately. "My back especially. Lord, but I hate picking up nuts."

"Make Sapel do it then," her husband suggested, sucking the peach nectar off his fingers.

"I do, but many hands made short work, as Granny used to say. Anyway, he helps me a lot. He really does. You should see him shinny up an apple tree!"

"Shinny?" Spock cocked the eyebrow her way once again.

"Never mind. Old Earth word." She reached down to absently stroke the purring cat by her side. For a time they were silent, watching their son splashing happily in the lake and their little daughter get to her feet and practice walking more than a few steps. "It's so nice here," Christine mused. "We could really make a home here if it weren't..." She stopped. "Spock, you do realize what we're sitting on top of, don't you?"

"Yes. This valley is a caldera," he answered quietly. "However, I have explored it during my hunting trips and I do not believe we are in any danger of an imminent eruption."

"Still makes me nervous, though."

"I have seen no signs of volcanic activity other than the hot springs and geysers at the other end of the valley," he assured her. "I would not be building us a cabin if I thought there was any danger at all in this location."

She shrugged sheepishly. "Yes. Sorry. But I just used to study geology a bit in college and there were always those instances of volcanoes that went off when people least expected it."

"Usually preceded by numerous warning signs that people chose to ignore," Spock answered, gazing at her directly. "Do not forget that Vulcan has active volcanoes as well, and that I grew up on the flanks of its biggest one, Mt. Seleya. I am well versed in the precursors of eruption."

Christine nodded. "I suppose you're right." She took a deep breath and turned a smile on him. "Of course, you're right. There hasn't been any activity in this valley for a very long time. That's obvious by how heavily wooded it is and by the variety of plants and animals. And there probably won't be any for long after we leave this place. Okay, I'll stop worrying. I promise."

"Indeed. If you need to worry about anything, worry that I will become too accustomed to lying in the shade and never finish the work on the cabin!" With that, Spock got to his feet and drew on his gloves. "Back to work!"

"Can I help?" she offered.

"You, on the other hand, deserve to rest in the shade," he answered. "You have been working extremely hard of late. Take advantage of the afternoon!"

She seemed about to protest, but then smiled and leaned back on her hands. "All right! Don't say I didn't offer to lend you a hand."

"Mama!" Sapel yelled from his waist-deep position in the lake. "Why don't you come swimmin', too? It's great!"

"I think I will," she replied and rose to her feet, snatching up T'Jenn and taking them both into the water.

* * *

The first cold snap hit about four weeks later, accompanied by several days of drenching rains. Then warm weather returned with flawless blue skies and summer-like temperatures. Mid‑afternoons were quite hot, but sundown brought markedly cooler breezes and made the evening fire a welcome respite. Autumn had definitely arrived and, as it did, long lines of migrating birds began to stream overhead, flying south, and many of the herd animals followed suit, migrating to the plains several hundreds miles away.

This year, however, there was plenty of game nearby that would winter over in the steam‑warmed caldera. At the far end of the valley, early mornings saw vast white plumes billowing up into the cold morning air from the hot springs and geysers, painted with shades of mauve and purple dawn light. Herds of red deer and the more massive elk stayed in the area overnight, moving out to graze as the day warmed and filtering through the trees whose palette had changed almost overnight from various verdant hues to a multi-colored array of golds, reds and browns. There was smaller game as well abounding in the caldera valley, rabbits and rock coneys, thick-plumed ground birds with limited flight capacity, tree dwelling branch climbers and flying squirrels, small horse-like browsers about the size of dogs, and something like an otter that lived in the waters of the lake and fed off the numerous fish.

Throughout the valley, too, the last fruits and nuts, grains and gourds, had reached their final blush of ripeness and Christine was gathering and storing as quickly as she and Sapel could work, vying with the animals who were working to store up body fat for winter. Spock would have helped them in the harvest, but he was devoting every daylight hour to putting the finishing touches on the hogan, working against a ticking clock to have it weather-proofed and winter-ready before the next cold front arrived, which could be any day now. All of them were exhausted by their frantic pace, but Christine especially seemed stretched near her limit.

Today, as every day, she was up at dawn, had them a hot breakfast of boiled grain ready, and ate as she breast-fed T'Jenn, now eleven months old. She was planning to wean the child over the winter, but now she was contented to put that off until she had the harvest out of the way. Jenny was eating soft foods now, even feeding herself finger foods, but still nursing several times a day.

Once the child had finished, Christine closed her tunic, got their gathering baskets together, slipped T'Jenn onto her back in her carry sling, and she and her son started off. Spock was sipping the last of his hot tea and called after her, "Watch the skies, especially this afternoon. I think it may rain."

"You just get the finishing touches on the house," Christine answered over her shoulder. "Sapel and I will take care of the rest."

She said it playfully, but Spock detected a faint undercurrent to her voice that made him cast a curious glance at her retreating back. She had remained edgy ever since the pregnancy scare and now the strain of getting as much food stored as she could had only added to that tenseness. Even though she treated him in a pleasant manner, solicitous of his needs and attentive if he required it, there was nevertheless a little frown line between her brows that refused to go away and the smile on her lips never quite reached her eyes anymore.

Spock finished his tea and picked up his tools, beginning his day's work. He had the hogan nearly finished now and was applying a thick mud and straw caulking to the chinks between the logs. After that, he had to fit on an overlying layer of waterproof reed thatching to the roof. They had been living in the new cabin ever since the bad weather, enduring the drafts and rain that had penetrated the unfinished walls, but they needed it snug and warm for winter. Christine had laid down a flooring of rushes to insulate against the cold as they had huddled around the central hearth, but the wind still blew through the chinks and robbed the cabin of its heat.

Mixing powdered clay, water and chopped straw, Spock worked the mixture into a thick paste, then slathered the mud between the logs, smoothing and packing with his fingers until it was solid, then moving on to the next section. It was monotonous work and his thoughts turned back to Christine. She hadn't been the same since the disastrous events in Lemuria. The experience had traumatized her deeply, yet she had attempted to submerge it all and go about her normal activities, but the tension had seeped through nonetheless. The issue of Sapel's punishment was unresolved between them and she tended to keep the boy with her, essentially shutting out Spock's influence. He didn't know if she was simply afraid of losing him again or if this was an attempt on her part to claim her son's favor. Perhaps it was not deliberate, but it seemed to be working. There was nothing overt, but Sapel obviously preferred his mother's company to his father's.

Christine's behavior toward Spock had also changed subtly. Following the time when she thought she might have conceived, she had distanced herself from him. They had not made love since then. Spock found that he missed it, despite his declaration to her about Vulcan celibacy. He had become accustomed to the eager willingness she always showed when he initiated sexual relations. In fact, just thinking about it caused a familiar tightening in his groin. Resolutely, he ignored it, concentrating on slapping more mud between logs. When had he become so physical? he wondered. In the beginning it was not like that. Not like that at all.

It was eight and a half years since they'd been stranded here and for the first few months he and Christine had successfully fought their growing attraction to one another. Of course, in those days, both nurtured the faint hope that they would be found and rescued, a dream long since abandoned. They had striven to maintain the professional relationship they'd had on board the _Enterprise_ , of First Officer and Head Nurse, but their living conditions and circumstances, their utter dependence upon one another to survive, had begun to change all that. He had found her to be nothing like the image he had formed in his mind. Instead, he discovered her to be intelligent and brave, resourceful and strong, pragmatic and yet respectful of his beliefs. And he had found her beautiful, her lush curves revealed as he'd never seen them, her deep blue eyes illuminated with sunlight, her blonde hair blowing in the breezes of their new home. Almost unbidden, his maleness began to respond to her utter femininity and he remembered vividly the day when their relationship had changed forever.

They had stood together on a hilltop, watching as a thunderstorm loomed in the distance. Thunder and a crash of lightning sent her leaping reflexively into his arms and he found that he did not want to let her go. It felt right that she be there, as natural as the rain beginning to fall around them, and when he had kissed her and her warm body melted into his embrace, the barrier they had built between themselves washed away with the first raindrops of the downpour to come.

They raced back to their cave home in the rain, becoming soaked as they ran, and once there had stripped off their wet clothes and moved again, almost tentatively for a moment, into each other's arms. It was all that was needed to fully ignite the fire between them. They had fallen together, flesh to burning flesh, and all the walls between them were irrevocably gone. They had made love while the storm raged outside, the thunder and lightning punctuating their own crescendos of passion and, when it was over, they were bonded together in a union of kindred souls.

She had seldom refused him since, her own uninhibited libido fueling the buried coals of Vulcan desire. She had taken him to heights of sexual expression he would never have known otherwise, playful and frenzied, tender and violent. Twice she had endured the fury and madness of _pon farr_ , something few Humans had experienced, and had still come to him with open arms and eagerness.

He had come to expect it, he realized, to revel in her sensuality and smoldering eroticism. Now it was essentially gone and he found that it left a void in his life that nagged at him subconsciously. He often found himself on the edge of sexual arousal whenever he was in her presence, watching hungrily as she opened her clothing and exposed her breasts to feed their child. He often found himself longing to bury his face there against her bosom and inhale her warm womanly scent, to kiss and nuzzle her firm breasts and drag his tongue over the taut protruding nipples, to take them in his mouth and suck them hard and—

Angrily, Spock yanked his thoughts away from his wife and back to his work, jabbing more mud into a crack. _Control!_ he ordered himself sternly. Vulcans did not react in this manner. He was behaving as if he were an adolescent in the first Awakening and had not yet learned to control his body or his emotions. He was a mature man now, fully able to master his own soul. Christine had good cause to cease sexual relations with him. The risk of another pregnancy was too great and he agreed with her about that. There would be no more mental debate about it! The subject was closed!

Setting his mind to his task, Spock moved down the log wall and slammed another wad of caulking into the chinks still unfilled.

* * *

The winter winds howled with a ferocity that made the hogan quiver and creak, but its compact shape allowed the storm to pass over and around it. Inside, it was warm and dark, the embers of the central hearth fire glowing redly, the sounds beneath the moan of the wind across the chimney hole those of safety and contentment. The children were both asleep on the other side of the cabin. Scruffy was curled next to the hearth, lazily washing one paw, the faint rasp of her tongue on her fur scarcely audible. Occasionally a coal in the hearth would snap softly, reminding Spock drowsily that he would have to add a bit more tinder if the banked fire seemed to be ebbing too low before morning. The smoke hole was efficient in drawing smoke out of the cabin, but it also drew out heat and the fire had to be tended carefully in order to keep the hogan comfortably warm.

Nearly back to sleep, Spock became aware of a faint movement beside him. Christine lay with her back to him, drawn in upon herself. She was trembling faintly and occasionally making a small moan deep in her throat, obviously caught in the throes of a disturbing dream.

Turning over onto his side, Spock spooned himself against her, draping an arm across her waist and snuggling her against him. She quieted at his touch but did not wake and he sank into slumber after a moment.

* * *

Christine sighed in bliss as Spock lowered himself onto her and into her welcoming arms. The weight of his body, supported on elbows and knees, was comforting rather than oppressive, and she slipped her arms around his neck and let her legs fall wider apart as he nestled his hips into place between them. It felt so good to have him back where he belonged and she spread herself eagerly to receive him. The thick probing rod of his erection unerringly found her opening and pushed smoothly past the mouth and into her depths, filling her in a way only he could. It had been so long and she was so tight...

Her head falling back in ecstasy, Christine gasped in response to his entry, to the sensation of his wonderful hardness sliding home to its full length within her, to the electricity that shot through her, to the shivers that pulsated as he moved within the clutching channel of her sex. Her gasp was stopped short as his mouth came down on hers, his tongue seeking and gaining the sanctuary between her lips, teasing her own tongue and the palate of her mouth. Moaning, she hugged him harder and returned the kiss in full measure.

When at last he raised his head, breaking the contact between them, she gazed up into his eyes, so close, a deep chocolate brown shaded by intensely black lashes. His soul was there within them, speaking to her as his words never could. His shuddering breath caressed her face from between parted lips, his brows bunched in concentration, and his long ebon hair curtained them both as he leaned over her. She reached one hand up and pushed the raven strands behind one pointed ear, allowing her fingers to linger on its curve, to caress its tip and glide down to fondle the lobe. Spock closed his eyes and drew a deep breath in response, his driving hips gaining even more power.

Then his dark gaze was on her eyes once more and his lips met hers briefly in a light, gentle kiss. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much."

"Oh, Spock, I love you too!" she answered fervently. The sensations surging within her began to grow exponentially with every thrust of his pelvis. He was as hard as a rock within her and his laboring breath told her that he was near to climax.

There was sweat rolling off his body onto hers, trickling down her ribs like phantom fingers, and she arched her back up underneath him, causing him to drive even deeper within her. Lodged within her, she felt him harden and lengthen still more, the head of his erection pounding insistently against her cervix, seeking entry.

No, something told her. This was wrong. He was trying to break through the barrier to her womb, to discharge his ejaculate as he would in _pon farr_. It had never happened except during Mating, when the physiology of the Vulcan male changed to insure pregnancy in his mate, enlarging so that he could deposit his seed directly into her uterus. No sperm could afford to be lost and, in Vulcan females, the texture of the cervix changed during Mating to allow the male to enter and lock into her until conception occurred and _pon farr_ ended. Only then would he soften enough to pull out and dismount from her.

It was also excruciatingly painful and the female was always shielded against the agony. Christine was fully awake, however, and Spock had made no move to meld with her and protect her from his actions.

Christine stiffened and pushed against Spock's shoulders. "Stop," she said. "You're hurting me."

But his pounding thrusts did not slacken as he grasped her in steel-hard hands, his eyes holding madness now, almost unseeing as _plak tow_ gripped him. Christine watched in horror as his eyes rolled up white and then orgasm was upon him. With a powerful thrust, he slammed into her a final time and the swollen head of his phallus punched past her cervix and into her womb, ripping her open, exploding with a torrent of white hot liquid that blazed in her like lava.

She screamed and clawed at the bunched muscles of his bare back, bringing welts of green blood to flow with his sweat over her, dripping down in verdant flows. Still he held her, pumping his fire into her, unseeing, unhearing, knowing only the animal-like frenzy to mate. At long last, his ejaculation slowed and stopped, but still he did not withdraw from her. Instead, he hunched over her in the same position, tied to her by his enormously swollen organ, still and waiting. Then he began to move again as the next wave of rut overtook him and the torment began all over again.

* * *

Christine came awake with a start, shaking uncontrollably and clutching at the bed furs for dear life. Breathing heavily, it took her a minute to slow her pounding heart and realize that it was just a dream. But the fear and memory of the pain remained with her yet, the images of the dream vivid in her mind.

She became aware that Spock was sitting beside the fire in the darkened hut, watching her. His gaze was hard beneath his lowered brows and the exaggerated relief of the flickering firelight on his angular face made him look very alien, very dangerous and strange.

"Do you actually think me capable of that?" he whispered harshly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the children.

"What?" she asked groggily.

"That I would rape you like that?"

"What are you talking about?" she whispered back.

"Your dream. Have I ever been so brutal that you would believe that of me?"

Christine sat up, frowning at him as she struggled to wake fully. "How did you know what I was dreaming?"

His face took on an almost mocking aspect. "If I don't shield against them, I know your dreams. Your mind practically shouts when you're dreaming." He peered at her again with an angry, hurt expression. "I am not an animal, Christine. Even in _pon farr_. And I can control myself. I am fully aware that you do not wish sexual relations with me. I know that you do not want any more children. Your subconscious hostility toward that aspect of our relationship in unwarranted."

Christine closed her eyes and shook her head. "I don't believe we're having this conversation. It was just a dream, Spock. It doesn't mean anything."

He rose and began to gather his things. "The subconscious is often a window into the deeper thoughts of a person's mind. I believe we could use a little time apart. I'm going hunting."

"What? Where?"

"To Seleya." It was the name they had given the dormant volcano that loomed over the far end of the valley. "The elk herds have moved up the slopes into the forests." He slipped his parka on over his head and pulled his heavy fur mukluks on over his high moccasins. "I shouldn't be gone more than a week."

Christine had gotten up now and had one of the sleeping furs wrapped around her for warmth. "It's the middle of the night."

"It is dawn." He packed a pouch with dried meat and fruits, put the strap over his shoulder, and caught up his bow and quiver. "There is plenty of firewood cut. You shouldn't need any more until after I return."

"Spock, you don't have to do this, you know."

He paused at the door and turned back to look at her, his eyes depthless and unfathomable. "I need to be alone, Christine. This is very hard on me. Harder than I anticipated. I must center myself before we can go on. I'll be back within the week."

With that, he ducked through the low doorway and was gone, shutting it after him to keep out the cold. Sighing heavily, feeling both angry and depressed, Christine turned back to put water on to boil for tea and breakfast cereal. When he got like this, there was nothing to do but let him go off and do his meditation thing. He was impossible to live with, otherwise. Even after all the years of dwelling in relative freedom from emotional constraints here on this planet, Spock was still at heart a hide-bound Vulcan male.

What he always failed to realize was that there was a hide-bound _Human_ male lurking in there, too. One that needed reassurance that he hadn't lost her just because she didn't fall on her back at the drop of a hat. Unwittingly, her mind flashed to the many instances when they had made love and in the many places and circumstances ... the snug cave of their valley home during a thunderstorm, the real bed onboard the now destroyed Romulan ship, the steaming hot pool at Sea Home, in meadows and underneath waterfalls ... gentle and wild, nasty and unrestrained, in every way possible.

Dispirited, she poked the embers hard with a stick to stir them to flame, her jaw tight, and poured grain into the now boiling water to allow it to cook. With the other stone bowl, she used the stick to nudge it off the fire and sprinkled aromatic leaves into it, allowing it to steep into tea. Stirring the boiling grain, she carefully moved it farther away from the fire and covered it with a large flake of stone that served as a lid. It took a while for it to absorb the water and soften, but Christine's thoughts were only halfway on what she was doing.

Goddamn it, it wasn't any easier on her to have to cut him off! Couldn't he see that? She loved having sex with him and, no matter what he said, it had just been a dream! It was nothing more than the anxiety and unreleased tension of being unable to continue an integral part of their marital relationship. She knew he was frustrated. She was, too! More than anything, she wanted to say the heck with it and screw his brains out! But she simply could not risk it. Her periods had been messed up ever since T'Jenn's birth. Sometimes she would go weeks without one, then she'd bleed heavily for ten days. Then she wouldn't have another one for two or three months. Then she'd spot for a couple of days three weeks later. She didn't have a clue when she was fertile anymore and when she wasn't.

She desperately needed to see a good gynecologist but had only her own medical training to attempt a diagnosis. Perhaps she was starting into menopause. Or — and she shuddered at the thought — perhaps it was something more sinister. The list of "female problems" that that might be made her blood run cold, with cancer right up there in the number one position. Pregnancy might be the least of her worries. God, uterine or cervical cancer ... no hope for treatment on this forsaken rock of a planet. In civilization, it was a simple matter to prevent or cure any cancers that formed, but here...

She threw the stick into the flames and huddled in on herself, hugging the fur around her, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. _Spock, oh, Spock, I'm so afraid!_

Underneath her, the floor seemed to tremble for a second, making her equilibrium spin in a flash of dizziness. Then she noticed that she couldn't seem to stop swaying ... and that the cabin was creaking ominously.

* * *

Spock halted as the ground shuddered beneath his feet, then seemed to undulate in a wild little dance. It only lasted a few seconds and he waited for a larger shock, but none came. He was familiar with quakes from his years at Starfleet Academy in San Francisco, and now judged this temblor to be no more than a 2 or 3 on the Richter scale.

This was a volcanic region and small earthquakes were likely very common here. He watched the ripples on the lake subside and return to normal. At the end of the valley, the geysers were all erupting, plumes of white steam billowing into the clear morning air in a spectacular array, the dawn light tinging them with rainbow hues. For a moment, Spock watched them then continued on his way.

He had briefly considered returning to the hogan, but then decided not to. No harm had been done by the little quake and he had faith that Christine could handle things there. He sensed no alarm from her through their bondlink, although he was aware of her emotional turmoil. That had been an ongoing thing, however, and seemed no worse than usual.

The walk through the outstanding scenery of the valley lifted his spirits and began to bring peace into his heart. Terra Two was nothing at all like Vulcan, but he'd lived on Earth for enough years to be able to appreciate the greens and blues of the mountains and forests there. This area reminded him of the Cascades region of northwestern North America. As he had explored, he'd seen that there were a number of mountains that were distinctly volcanic in appearance, some quite high and well-defined, capped with snows and even what appeared to be small glaciers. Others were low and eroded, covered with thick stands of forest, punctuated by blue mountain lakes, many fed by glaciers and snow melt, waterfalls shimmering as overflow sent streams down to lower lakes and ponds.

It was spectacularly beautiful and life was abundant here. The forests and glens abounded with game and there was so many types of trees and shrubs that bore edible fruit, he and Christine had named their valley Eden. The serpent in the garden, of course, was the fact that underneath their paradise lay the source of the volcanoes, hot springs and geysers in the area. This was a vast caldera that had erupted sometime in the past and the continued activity gave evidence that the region was not dead by any means, but only dormant. There did not appear to have been a major eruption here in a very long time, but geologic time worked on a different scale from the short lifespans of Humans.

Still, Spock had not seen any signs that the area was reawakening and he felt reasonably safe settling his family in this valley. It might be decades ... centuries, even ... before anything happened to force them to flee. And the odds were overwhelmingly good that long before that time the activity would increase in intensity, giving them ample warning. He was well-versed in the science of volcanism. His home planet was aptly named in Human tongues — although the proper Vulkhansu appellation roughly translated as "home" — for it was actively volcanic. Spock had grown up in the shadow of the dormant peak of Mt. Seleya and with an instinctual knowledge of natives of the region.

By mid-day, he had reached the slopes of the local Mt. Seleya, the mountain that stood at the head of the valley, and stopped to rest and have a bite to eat. He was still near the shores of the lake but above the geyser region. He could still catch a whiff now and then of sulphur in the air, giving the area an odor like rotten eggs, but for the most part the breeze coming off the mountain blew the fumes away from him and the scent of evergreens was dominant.

It was cold here and there was a bit of snow in shaded spots. It was still early in the winter and there had only been a flurry or two at this point. The heavier snows would come in a month or more. While his fur parka and mukluks kept him adequately warm, he hadn't needed snowshoes or any other winter gear.

Sitting on a fallen log, he took out a wafer of journey bread, rendered fat and fruit pounded together into a nutritious and high energy cake, and munched on it as he enjoyed the quiet surroundings. Many birds had left the area for warmer climes, but there were still a lot that stayed over in the geyser-warmed region. They hopped about the trees and twittered among themselves as they looked for dried berries and sluggish insects hidden in the bark. A flying squirrel emerged from its hole high up in the trunk of a pine and skittered around in a last minute foraging expedition. It would be hibernating soon, but was still compelled to gather any pine nuts it might have missed, packing on the fat to see it through the winter.

Spock enjoyed watching the little animals go about their business, feeling a serenity that he'd been missing for quite a while. It was like paradise here, compared to other places on this planet they'd lived. The wind picked up a little and he became aware of a low, hollow sound as it did so. Puzzled, he listened and tried to identify it. It wasn't animal in origin and it almost sounded musical to his ear. It rose and fell as the breeze did, sometimes fading totally away and at others rising in pitch.

Stowing his journey cake back into his pack, he caught up his bow and stood, curious to find the source. His search led him down to a large stand of thick reeds at the water's edge, where a little stream flowed into the lake. There he found a place where several of the bamboo-like stems had broken and were lying over atop their neighbors. As the wind blew through them, they produced a thin wail.

Inspiration was immediate and Spock suddenly knew one of the things that had been missing from his life since they had been stranded on this planet. He had always loved music and had missed his _ka'athyra_ , his Vulcan lyre that had been a part of his life since childhood. He had often thought of making one, but had never had the time or materials to do it properly. Now he handled the thick hollow reed and envisioned a simple flute. Scotty had possessed a Celtic flute much like this but had not considered himself good enough on it to play for others. He was more accomplished on his pipes, which he brought out on ceremonial occasions.

Drawing his knife, Spock cut the stem and several others, stowing them in his pack. The long winter would prove the perfect time to experiment with making a musical instrument.

* * *

"Ouch!" Christine yanked her finger back reflexively away from the bone needle and stuck it in her mouth to suck on the hurt. After a few seconds, she turned and snapped at her son, "Sapel, I've asked you to be quiet! You're making me a nervous wreck!"

The boy looked up from where he was rough-housing with Scruffy. "I'm sorry, Mama."

"Mama!" echoed T'Jenn, tugging on her mother's sleeve. The toddler opened her mouth and made a sound that translated as "Feed me!" When Christine didn't respond, the little girl yanked more insistently. "Mama!!"

With an exasperated sigh, Christine looked at her husband. "Spock, will you take this child and get her something to eat? I am never going to get this sewing finished!"

From his work area of the cramped cabin, Spock sighed too and got to his feet. Picking up his daughter, he parked her on his hip and found a piece of bread for her. Then, catching up his flute, he said, "Come, _t'chi'a_ , let's give your mother a bit of time alone." Ducking through the door, he went out into the early spring sunshine.

Sapel considered going with him, but he was more interested in playing with his pet hunting cat. Scruffy was acting funny lately, rolling onto her back and purring loudly. Every now and then, she'd give a little yowl and leap to her feet, looking around wildly, then would groom herself intensely. It was the liveliest she'd been all winter, shut in as she'd been with her family.

"She's just stir crazy," Christine had commented. "She feels spring in the air and it's making her nutty."

Sapel wasn't so sure. He's seen Scruff in all her moods and this was a new one. She had a new odor, too, a strong one. Now his mother frowned over her sewing, trying to see by the light coming in through the membrane covered window and finally said, "Sapel, take that animal out of here. And leave the door open a bit. Lord, but I'll be happy when I can open this place up and air it out properly!"

"Yes, Mama." Sapel got up and donned his obsidian-bladed knife, then clucked to his pet. "C'mon, Scruffy. Let's go play." The hunting cat beat him through the door and made a mad dash immediately up a nearby tree.

Christine closed her eyes and did some deep breathing, attempting to calm herself down. She'd felt as if her nerves were stretched to the breaking point lately and her hands trembled slightly as she went back to her sewing. The cabin now quiet and the repetitive actions of stitching soothing her, her mind turned to the past three or four months.

Winter had been relatively mild here in the steam-warmed caldera. There had been snow and cold, ice crusting the lake, and harsh winds blowing down off the mountain, but overall it was nothing like the winters they'd spent in their valley home on the plains. There, arctic blasts had blown in blizzards and ice storms on a regular basis. But even here the family had been largely confined to the hogan's cramped dimensions. Four people and a hunting cat in one small room had them all longing for spring.

The first signs of it had arrived this week. It was still winter but they had found little purple flowers pushing up through the remnants of the last snowfall and some of the trees had bud swellings on their limbs. There was a freshness in the air as well that was hard to define but undoubtedly there.

Christine had not felt entirely well during the winter, her attention attuned to her own body. She hadn't had a period in four months, other than a bit of light spotting now and then. And there were other signs. Often at night, she'd throw back the fur coverings as waves of heat consumed her and she'd find herself drenched in sweat.

"What's wrong?" Spock had whispered in alarm the first time it happened, disturbed out of his sleep by her flapping her gown to cool off.

"Nothing. I'm just hot," she'd whispered back in irritation. "Go to sleep."

After a while the heat dissipated and she got cold again, now feeling clammy from sweat. She had begun to shiver and wrapped herself snugly in the furs, scrunching up against Spock's body in search of warmth. He had turned on his side to pull her against him, but she'd shrugged him away irritably. "Go to sleep!" she'd ordered him and stayed tensed up until she finally fell back to sleep herself.

By now she'd recognized the symptoms. She was undoubtedly beginning to go through menopause. It was early. She was only 40 or 41, as near as she could figure, given the longer year of this planet's orbit around its sun. If she were still in the Federation, she'd seek out an endocrinologist who would stabilize her hormone levels and ward off this "change of life" for another decade or two. It wasn't unusual anymore for women in their seventies to remain fertile and even produce children. There was one case of an 87-year-old woman having a baby by natural means.

Christine allowed herself a little smirk at that. Lord, she thought, who'd _want_ to have a baby at 87! Then she smiled again. A Vulcan maybe. Many Vulcan women were still giving birth when they were over one hundred.

That caused her to glance up at the partially open doorway where she could hear the sweet strains of Spock's bamboo flute drifting up from the water's edge. In other circumstances, she could think of nothing she'd like better than to bear and raise Spock's babies. She loved him desperately, but this past winter she'd found her sexual desire waning. As her hormone levels changed, her libido had seemed to become dormant. It was more than just her determination not to become pregnant again. They could have had sex in a dozen different ways that would not have put her in the least danger of conceiving. In the past they had both indulged in a great deal of oral sex and even mutual masturbation was better than strict celibacy.

But she hadn't even wanted to do that. On occasion she'd tried to get herself stimulated, but it was as if the spark she needed wasn't there anymore. At least not as far as Spock was concerned. In fact, the other night she'd had a dream about Roger, back when she first knew him and they'd fallen in love. There was a tinge of eroticism to the dream that she couldn't remember, but which made her feel disloyal to Spock. If she was going to dream about someone, it should be her husband!

Christine sighed and put down her sewing, unable to concentrate on what she was doing. The spring weather beckoned her as well and she decided that a hot bath would soothe her nerves. Farther down the shore, near the geyser field, hot springs bubbled up and ran into the lake, where the boiling hot water was cooled to a tolerable temperature by the cold waters of the lake.

It was a favorite bathing spot for them all but it had been too cold lately to make the trip down there. Now, her mind made up, Christine gathered up her chamois towels and pinned her long braid up with bone hair picks.

She found Spock sitting on a fallen log by the waterside, T'Jenn perched on his knee and listening in delight as her father played simple tunes on his homemade flute. He stopped and looked up at his wife as she came along side.

"I'm gonna go take a bath," she said. "I just need a good hot soak right now."

"Very well. I will come if you need me."

"Just watch the kids. I shouldn't be gone more than an hour or two." With that, Christine set out toward the plumes of steam rising about a mile away.

* * *

The place they liked to bathe was a little cove where at some forgotten time in the distant past black volcanic cinders had formed a layer of ash. This had long since compacted and now become a beach that was soft and firm underfoot and stretched for an unknown way underneath the lake waters. Hot springs trickled in steaming rivulets down through the beach, their tracks vivid with multi-colored algae and bacteria pads that thrived in temperatures no Human could tolerate.

Where the waters of springs and lake mixed, the surface fumed and occasionally bubbled, but not far from there the water was like a soothing immersion of heat, perfect on a cold spring day for relaxing tired muscles and soaking away tension and grief.

Christine disrobed quickly, her skin prickling in gooseflesh in the cold air, and slipped her foot into the water. At first it seemed unbearably hot but then her senses adapted and she waded out until she was about knee deep. There a series of rocks protruded from the lake bottom, rising above the water level, and forming an ideal back rest. Christine lowered herself into the water and leaned back against the rock, sinking down until the steamy waters lapped about her shoulders and chin. With a luxurious sigh, she closed her eyes and settled back, letting the natural spa do its magic.

As her weariness flowed inexorably out of her, she dozed and began to dream, her active subconscious holding sway again.

She was in the caverns of Exo III, deep beneath its frozen surface, in the warm environs of the long lost city of the androids. In her dream, however, it was the University of Toronto and she was again a student in advanced biochemistry, finishing her doctorate. Roger was teaching it. They had been lovers for some time now and, as he lectured, she smiled at him and leaned back to rub her very pregnant belly. Inside her, Roger's baby moved and kicked, full of life and eager to come into the world. She was due soon. She wouldn't make it until the end of the semester, but she was confident that she could take her finals from her hospital bed and finish the course.

She couldn't keep her mind from wandering to the nights she spent with Roger and she felt her groin tighten in anticipation. Even heavily pregnant, she wanted him, to feel his big frame hunched over her back, holding her firmly but tenderly, as he rode her to ecstatic completion. It was odd, though, that she couldn't remember exactly when she'd become pregnant by him.

She knew he was going away soon on a research project so maybe she'd decided not to wait. Yes, that was it. He had gone away and she'd found him here, on Exo, teaching the androids all about biochemistry.

The class seemed to be over now because all the androids were leaving. All except Andrea and the giant, Ruk. Christine frowned as the three of them came toward her.

"Ah, Christine, my darling," Roger smiled at her. "I wonder if we might use you for a demonstration."

"Of what?" she asked, puzzled.

"Well, you know how androids are made. I've shown you that," Roger explained. "But Ruk and Andrea are very curious about how Humans reproduce. They know that we have mated to produce a child and they want to see how it's done."

Stunned, Christine looked from one placid face to the other in disbelief. "You must be joking!"

"No, I'm perfectly serious," Korby responded, his blue eyes wide with sincerity. "I promised to demonstrate our mating practices and, after all, you are the logical choice for that. You are my mate, after all."

Christine stood up and backed away. "This is absurd, Roger. I certainly will not have sex with you in front of these ... these..."

"But I thought you liked sex, Christine." He stared at her unblinking as he advanced.

"That's beside the point!"

"You'd have sex fast enough if I were Spock," he stated, his expression hardening slightly.

"Spock..." Her mind flashed to the tall Vulcan whom she'd met only weeks before on the _Enterprise_. "He doesn't love me."

"But you love him. You told him so," Roger reasoned, still advancing on her. "Just pretend I'm Spock. Close your eyes and make believe I love you."

He was pressing her against the wall now and she did close her eyes, but in confusion and terror. "No, Roger! Stop this! You're not Spock... Spock!" She tried to fight him off and, almost of its own accord, her mind screamed out, _Spock!!!_

Suddenly he was there, running into the room with his phaser in his hand, just as he had before. Only this time he was alone, no security guards behind him. He immediately vaporized Ruk and Andrea, then turned to meet Korby who had swung to the attack. The phaser beam hit Korby's hand at a glancing blow and Christine screamed as she had done before, horrified at the sight of spitting wires and hissing hydraulics revealed in Roger's damaged hand.

The scientist turned back to his fiancée. "Christine, does this matter so much? I'm Human! He's not! I can love you! He can't!"

Her eyes were filled with tears as she answered, "Don't you see, Roger? You're _not_ Human! You can't love me!"

His face contorted and he lunged for her. "Then give me back the android child I planted inside you!"

Christine's screech of fear and denial was simultaneous with the shriek of the phaser beam, hitting Korby and destroying him forever. Spock instantly slapped the phaser against his belt and rushed to catch her as she fell, her legs giving out beneath her.

"Christine!" He caught her in his arms and lowered her to the floor, sinking down beside her to hold her tight against him, his heart pounding heavily in his side. "Thank Heya I was not too late. Are you injured?"

"No," she sobbed, then gasped as her belly cramped up. "Oh... I think I'm in labor!"

"I have to get you back to the ship." He attempted to get her to her feet but she clutched her stomach and cried out.

"No, there isn't time! It's coming!" She groaned as another hard contraction hit, then suddenly grasped his tunic and pleaded, "Oh, Spock! Roger was an android! They all were! Even the Captain! He said the baby is an android, too! I don't want to give birth to some ... _thing!_ "

Spock stroked her hair and assured her softly, "You will not. I promise."

"How do I know you're not an android, too?" she sobbed.

"I will prove it to you." He rested her against the wall and drew the Romulan-design steel knife that was hanging at his side. With the point, he pricked his thumb and held it up for her to see. A bright emerald drop of blood shimmered from the wound and then trickled down. "Give me your thumb," he instructed her.

Trembling, she did and he stabbed the point of the knife into the fleshy pad of her thumb. She jumped involuntarily and ruby blood flowed immediately. Spock did not release her, however, but pressed the bleeding wounds together, the blood mingling into one variegated stream.

"Now, we are one," he told her softly, gazing into her eyes. "Our blood is one and our children will testify to that unity."

"But my baby ... it's Roger's," she protested.

Spock only shook his head. "See what you have borne..."

Christine looked down to find that she had indeed given birth. Somehow she had been so distracted that she hadn't noticed. She was naked from the waist down and between her legs, still attached to her by an umbilical cord, lay a perfect, elfin baby girl. She seemed too tiny to be real, but she squirmed and moved her arms and legs. Without hesitation, Christine reached to pick her up, cuddling the diminutive infant against her. Now she could see that the baby was Vulcan, her little ears coming to delicate points, her wisp of hair dark and shiny, her hint of brows sweeping up above coal black eyes.

"She is mine," Spock whispered. "She is ours." He leaned to kiss Christine's hair. "Never doubt that I love you, _t'hyla_. Never."

And Christine began to cry, with remorse and happiness and an upwelling of emotions she could not begin to name.

* * *

_Spock!!!_

The cry shot through Spock's mind like an arrow, causing him to physically jerk in response. Quickly he recovered and called, "Sapel! Come take your sister!" The boy hurried over and Spock handed the child into his hands. "Your mother needs me. Watch T'Jenn. Don't let her go near the water."

With that, Spock was off at a run in Christine's direction. It was about a half-mile from their cabin and he covered the distance in five minutes. As he arrived, slightly out of breath, he found his wife huddled on the shore, wrapped in her chamois towels and softly weeping as she dried herself.

"Christine! What's wrong? What is it?" he demanded, searching for some danger or hurt she might have suffered.

Dully, she looked up at him and answered, "Nothing. I'm all right."

"You Sent for me," he insisted. "It was quite strong."

"I was just having a bad dream. Nothing's wrong." She quickly pulled on her clothing and moccasins and started past him.

Exasperated and angry in spite of himself, Spock reached out and grasped her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks. "This has gone on long enough, Christine," he stated. "I want to know what is wrong with you and what can be done to correct it."

She tried to yank loose from his grip, but his Vulcan strength was like steel. "Let go of me! You're hurting me!"

He eased up just a little but did not release her. "You are nervous and irritable, you have nightmares, you have pushed me away whenever I touch you. This behavior is negatively affecting all of us. It is time to do something about it."

With tears welling more strongly in her eyes, Christine's countenance crumpled. "I don't know what to do! I think I'm going crazy!" And with that she broke down into agonized sobs.

Spock sighed and drew her into his embrace, having learned over the years that her all-too-Human emotions sometimes simply required a good cry to set things right again. She clung to him and buried her face in the soft buckskin covering his chest, sliding her arms around him to hold him as if never to let him go and for several minutes they simply stood together, Spock stroking her hair and Christine pouring out the anxiety and despair welled up inside her.

When she finally raised her face and wiped the tears away, she was not as tense, but he could feel that there was still an ocean of unhappiness within her. He brushed away a tear from her cheek with his thumb and peered down at her seriously. "I believe that a talk is very long over due, my wife. I cannot help you if I do not understand what is causing you such distress. Come, let's go back to camp and you will tell me everything that you are feeling."

She couldn't help the sardonic little smirk that twitched one corner of her mouth. "I thought Vulcans didn't have feelings."

He quirked one eyebrow slightly. "I do not believe that an argument about such things would be appropriate just now. After being bonded with me for over seven years, I should think you would know the answer to that all too well."

She did smile then, though a bit sadly. "Yes, I do know. I do." She sighed and leaned against his side, slipping an arm around his waist, and they began the walk back toward camp.

* * *

Holding his baby sister, Sapel watched in dismay as his father disappeared at a dead run. He had absolutely no desire to be forced into babysitting, especially when he'd just been about to follow Scruffy on her prowling into the nearby woods. Turning in that direction, he was just in time to see the white tuft on the end of her tail disappear into the shadows and Sapel swung back in frustration, hoping that Spock would come back and take the toddler who was squirming to get down.

But the tall Vulcan was barely in sight, still going at a fast clip down the lake shore. In a few seconds, he was lost to view as well.

"Down!" T'Jenn demanded, wriggling out of her brother's arms. He let her feet reach the ground but did not turn her completely loose. She grunted and tugged to get her chubby hand free, squealing in agitation.

"No, Jenn!" he answered. She fought harder but then he had an inspiration. "Come on, let's find Scruffy," he said in mock happiness.

The little girl paused, recognizing the name. "Ki-ki," she answered with a broad grin, using her word for the "kitty".

"That's right. Let's go find the kitty." Taking her little hand, Sapel started off in the direction the hunting cat had gone, his baby sister beside him.

* * *

"I do not fully understand this physiological change," Spock said, walking slowly with his hands clasped behind his back, "but I do wish to help see you through it."

"I don't fully understand it either," Christine answered, matching his leisurely pace. "I mean, as a nurse, I know the medical reasons ... hormone changes and all that ... but it's not an easy thing to experience. My emotions are really volatile right now and I just feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin at anything. Back home ... in the Federation, I mean ... I'd be taking hormone supplements that would even all this out or even postpone it indefinitely. I'd be my usual smiling, cheerful self instead of the Psycho War Bitch from Hell."

He glanced at her with an indulgent smile. "You are hardly that," he answered.

"I feel like it, though." She sighed. "You all must have been ready to strangle me this winter. I can't have been easy to live with."

He shrugged. "You _were_ ... um ... testy at times," he admitted.

Christine laughed and punched him in the arm. "Testy, eh? I'll show you 'testy'!"

She made a sudden grab for his mid-section, exactly on target for the few spots where she knew he was ticklish. Instantly realizing her intent, Spock leaped back then grabbed her wrists, fending off her attack but only using enough strength to prevent her reaching his ribs. She laughed again and redoubled her efforts, he dancing away and holding her hands back.

At last she gave up and, as he felt her stop her assault, he pulled her into his arms and bent to capture her mouth in an increasingly prolonged and urgent kiss. She leaned into it, opening her lips to his searching tongue, and almost immediately the long-damped fires in each of them sprang into being once again. His right hand came up to her face and his fingers spread onto her meld points, then he was there within her as he had not been for the endless, barren months of winter just past.

_T'hy'la! Beloved!_

_Spock! Oh, my Spock! I've missed you so much!_

Further communication flared into a non-verbal level, the colors of pure emotion swirling together in a kaleidoscope of hues and sensations. Bodies responded to minds and, before either of them knew it, she was on her back beneath him, fingers tearing at his clothing as quickly as he worked at hers, opening the way. He got her loin cloth aside enough to find her and then plunged into her with a force that drew a cry from both of them. Had he thought about it longer, he would have prepared her better, but she didn't care. Her body screamed to join with his and the rough entry sent her soaring up into almost immediate orgasm.

He paused to allow her to crest her wave of ecstasy, then resumed his frantic thrusts. It only took him a moment more before the unbearable pressure within his gut exploded in a frenzied release. With a gasp of near-pain, he emptied himself into her welcoming depths, but then did not pull away from her, for his erection was as hard and ravenous as ever. Instead, he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, and she happily straddled him, sighing and wriggling deeper onto the wonderful impalement.

As she began to move her hips against him, he reached for the lacing on her shirt, pulling the rawhide strings away and baring her beautiful, full breasts. She had finished weaning T'Jenn and her breasts were returning to their normal size. But they were still large and her nipples swelled to full extension in the cold air, arousing him to a new level. Pulling her toward him, he lifted his head and latched onto one of them, sucking vigorously, then switched and did the other.

Christine moaned and rocked against him harder, quickly building back to a rapturous peak. It triggered a like sensation within him and with a groan he released her and threw his head back, arching up underneath her as climax took him once more. This one she rode with him, her voice lifting to a keen of delirium as his fire erupted deep inside her.

When both came down, they sagged together, breathing hard, Christine's face sheened with sweat. As she opened sparkling blue eyes to gaze deep into his dark brown ones, she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly.

"We shouldn't have done that," she said softly. "I could get pregnant..."

He reached and took her face within his large, strong hands. "My _t'hy'la_ , I will say this just once more and I want you to listen. I will not impregnate you unless it is your wish that I do so. The scent and taste of your skin is wholly different to me when you are ovulating and I will not have sexual relations with you during that time. I promise. But other times I want to hold you and love you as we have done since we came here. Withdrawing yourself is obviously detrimental to us both. Please ... trust me that I will do what is best for you ... for all of us."

Christine hung her head and tears leaked from beneath her dark lashes. "Spock ... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

She leaned forward into his arms and they lay embraced for a few more minutes, then he shifted beneath her. "We must get up, beloved. We have left the children alone too long now and also this ground is quite cold!" He kissed her gently. "Tonight, after they are asleep and we are together in our bed furs, I promise that we will continue this."

Laughing softly, she got off him and stood, tugging her loin cloth back into place and relacing her tunic. He rose and did the same, then hand in hand they hurried toward their camp a quarter mile away.

* * *

Jenny whimpered and tugged at Sapel's hand, obviously tired of walking. Intent on finding Scruffy, the boy picked her up and hefted her onto his hip. The toddler was nearly too heavy for him, but the hidden reserve of his Vulcan strength compensated. By Terra Two years, Sapel was seven years old, but in Vulcan or Human reckoning, he was closer to nine.

"Ki-ki?" T'Jenn asked him.

"I don't know where the kitty is, Jenn," he answered, peering around them through the trees. "We'll have to keep looking."

The toddler pointed. "Ki-ki!"

Sapel looked in the direction she indicated and, after a few seconds, saw the pattern of a spotted golden hide among the trees. Something about it didn't look right, though, and Sapel hesitated. "Scruffy?" he ventured.

The hunting cat peered hard at the boy for a long minute, then abruptly leaped up and dashed away into the woods.

* * *

Camp was strangely deserted when Spock and Christine arrived back at their homesite. "Sapel?" the woman called and ducked into the hogan. She was back a minute later.

"Sapel!" Spock echoed, searching visually and listening for an answer.

"Jenny!" Christine was beginning to sound worried. "Spock, where could they be?"

"I do not know," he answered. "Sapel!"

"Oh, Spock, if something has happened to them—"

"I do not sense any distress from Sapel," he responded in a soothing manner. "They have likely just wandered away."

He closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment then started toward the woods. "This way," he said and marched off, Christine hurrying after him.

* * *

A low growl stopped Sapel in his tracks. "Scruff?" he asked uncertainly.

The hunting cat crouched ten meters away swished its tail warningly and laid back its black-tufted ears, growling again.

"Ki-ki!" Jenn exclaimed in delight, but her brother was suddenly focused on the animal with complete attention, holding his sister firmly against him with his left arm and drawing his obsidian-bladed knife with his right hand.

This wasn't Scruffy. It was a wild male cat, the one their pet had mated. Her odd behavior and scent made sense now, too. Scruffy was in season and had gone into the woods seeking her mate.

T'Jenn squirmed again and tried to get down, but Sapel held her in an iron grip, backing slowly away. "Hush, Jenn!" he commanded in a low voice.

The cat bared its teeth and hissed a warning. "It's okay," Sapel told him softly. "We're not trying to hurt you. It's okay."

Abruptly there was a chirping sound to one side and Scruffy appeared, tail high and clearly impatient with her mate. Meowing, she sashayed in front of him, wafting her scent with her waving tail, then scampered off again.

Sapel held his breath and he and the male hunting cat locked gazes for a long minute, then the cat rose out of his crouch, gave the boy one more piercing glare, and disappeared after the female. Sapel released his pent breath and felt weak with relief.

T'Jenn wriggled fiercely and he put her down, but refused to allow her to follow the two "kitties." The little girl's face puckered up in anger and she let out a wail and a flood of tears.

Tired of dealing with her, Sapel sighed as he resheathed his knife. "Aw, shut up, T'Jenn. Quit yer blubberin'."

"Sapel! Jenny!" Christine's frantic voice cut through the trees and then their mother was there, scooping up her baby and hugging her frantically. Their father was hard on her heels, knife drawn and scanning the scene for danger. "Are you all right? What has happened?"

"Nothing's wrong," the boy answered in disgust. "We were just following Scruffy, that's all."

"Why is T'Jenn crying?" Spock demanded, slipping his knife back into its belt scabbard.

"Aw, she's just mad. I wouldn't let her go off after Scruffy when she ran off."

Relief flooded through Spock, being replaced almost automatically with anger. "I told you to watch her."

"I _did_ watch her!" the boy flared back.

"There is no need to raise your voice, Sapel," Spock warned.

"Watch your tone!" Christine snapped at the same time, still rocking her younger child.

But Sapel would have none of it. "For cryin' out loud!" he retorted. "You dump her on me and run off, but then don't trust me to have enough sense to wipe her nose!"

"Your volume level is unacceptable," his father said quietly in an icy tone.

"Well, quit treatin' me like I'm stupid!" the boy returned, although he was beginning to feel intimidated by his tall father's implied threat of punishment. While he knew that Spock would not physically chastise him, he was too familiar with the mental ostracism Spock could inflict. Sapel and his father had only begun to mend their damaged relationship during the winter months just past and the wounds were still easily damaged.

Christine sensed the stand-off between father and son and stepped in, now that T'Jenn was snuggling against her shoulder, sniffling and sucking her thumb. "All right, there's no harm done," the woman said. "It's all over. Let's go home and have some lunch."

For a moment Spock and Sapel were silent, exchanging hard glares, then both seemed to back off. "Agreed," her husband answered softly.

"Fine," added Sapel.

With peace once more restored, the family started back toward their home on the lake shore.

* * *

Thunder was softly rumbling through the night as Spock slipped into the sleeping furs beside his wife. Spring rain was coming again, as it had been off and on throughout the past week. As the new season had progressed, grass had sprouted and trees had burst into leaf, turning the world around the homesite a fresh green that sang renewal.

It was early yet and the threat of cold weather had not entirely abated, but new life was appearing. Early calves and fawns were already beginning to appear among the grazers and deer, although most would not be born until about a month later. But these harbingers of warmer weather had gladdened the hearts of the family.

The rains had begun several days before, brief loud storms, brilliant with lightning and tumultuous with thunder, dropping torrents in minutes, then passing on over, leaving the residual clouds to rain themselves out as they trailed behind. Tonight's storm promised to be just the same sort.

As Spock settled himself, Christine snuggled against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his skin, warm and alien, though familiar to her now as her own. He smelled of wood smoke and leather, of musk and perspiration, not unpleasant, but primally male. There was nothing rank or unwashed about his odor, but was the scent of honest masculinity and innate sexuality. It sent a tightness pulsing through her groin in answer.

He responded to the sensation that came through their bond, his own body answering her summons. Turning on his side to face her, he drew her against him, pulling her to his bare chest. Thunder again grumbled, louder this time.

"Do you remember the first time we made love," he murmured to her, stroking her hair away from her face in the darkness.

"Mmmm," she responded with a smile. "We got caught in a downpour. We were soaked when we got back to our cave."

"It was the first time I saw you completely naked," he answered, his lips teasing her cheek with light caresses. "You drove every bit of control away from me."

She laughed softly, baring her throat to his mouth. "You were going into _pon farr_. I could have stood there in a radiation suit and you'd've jumped me!"

"Possibly, but it was the sight of you standing there with your back to me, your hair hanging down to your waist, your skin lit by firelight that made me realize I could resist you no longer." He caught her mouth with his and held it, his tongue gently seeking entry between her lips.

When they parted, she gave a little moan deep in her throat and smiled. "And there you were ... shirtless and wet and your hair long and loose ... I nearly had an orgasm on the spot."

"Then we were already of one mind," he responded, pulling her once more into a long, sensual kiss. His fingers slipped into meld position and immediately their psyches joined into a mutual memory...

Christine was laughing and Spock nearly so when they ducked out of the driving rain and into the cave they had been calling home for six months. She went immediately to the rear of the shelter, where her bedding lay, while he wedged the door shield into place and poked the fire up higher, taking the chill out of the room. It felt good to his naked skin as his hair dripped little rivulets down his back and chest and he prepared to move to his own sleeping area to change out of his wet clothing.

Movement froze him where he was and he stood enraptured by the sight before him. Christine stood with her back to him and had already shed her soaked leather dress. It lay puddled around her ankles and she stepped out of it, kicking it away. She had undone her hair and was now leaning her head back, shaking the mass free, the blonde locks cascading nearly to her waist.

His focus moved farther down, to the rounded, inviting globes of her buttocks, and long straight lines of her legs. The firelight painted her skin gold and scarlet, punctuated by deep shadows and hints of others.

Of its own volition, his body responded to the woman before him, his groin tightening and his breath coming short. Before he knew what he was doing, Spock was walking toward her, scarcely able to hear his own whisper through the blood pounding in his ears. "Christine..."

She turned to face him and the full impact of her femininity hit him hard. Her full, rose‑tipped breasts came into view, nipples taut and high, then his gaze went down the curve of her stomach, past the dimple of her navel, to the triangle of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs. He caught a glimpse of the cleft beneath and its primal sexuality pulsed even stronger through his growing erection. Then his eyes came back to her face and he was lost. Her blue eyes pulled him into the maelstrom of emotions swirling beneath their surface — love, lust, hope, need, fear...

And then she was in his arms, their lips together in a frantic kiss. Tongues fenced desperately as they unleashed the passion that had been building between them. Both their hands worked to free him of the wet leggings and loincloth that still clung to his lower body, to strip him of any impediment that would delay their joining. At last he was rid of the soaked clothing and they were truly together at last, skin to skin.

Thunder rolled as he took her down onto the rough blanket, hungrily feasting on her lips and throat and breasts, his throbbing erection jabbing into her pelvis. Reaching between them, she grasped the pulsating rod and tugged him into position between her spread thighs, her very touch inflaming him beyond rational thought. The head lodged into place at her threshold and he needed no further plea. Hefting himself above her, his hips lunged forward and his engorged manhood rammed hilt deep within her.

Christine arched up beneath him with a cry and her nails dug into his back. Spock gasped aloud as well, overcome by the sensation of full penetration into her tight, wet depths. Though he had long ago surrendered his boyhood to the priestesses on Seleya, this was a wholly new and unexpected experience. Christine was not a dispassionate temple concubine, helping young men through their first Awakening. All her sexual energy and desire for him surged through her skin like warp currents, reinforcing the already nearly unbearable pressure building in his gut. He gave a shove with his hips, driving himself deeper, and that just made it all the more wonderful and exquisite. Beneath him, Christine moaned and squirmed, her hips moving in a corresponding rhythm.

It was all it took. An instant later, they were locked into a cadence as old as time and as new as dawn. Her long legs went around his hips and held him, her fingers digging into his back muscles, cries of ecstasy escaping her lips with every impact of his body against hers. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked almost immediately, the storm giving added expression to their building passion.

With a ground-shaking retort, thunder reverberated the entire cave and Spock gave his own roar of completion. Release took him with explosive force and he slammed into her as far as he could, holding them both on the knife edge of eternity. Christine shuddered uncontrollably beneath him, a long keen escaping from clenched teeth.

Then both storms slackened their force and eased off, the thunder dying down to a muted grumble as the rain poured and Spock slumping over his lover's sweat-drenched body.

"Oh, God..." Christine murmured against his ear, still holding him tightly in her arms, trembling with the last spasms of climax she felt deep within her. He was still buried inside her, still hard, filling her like nothing she had ever felt.

Raising himself on one arm over her, Spock bent and caught her lips, all of his surging emotions expressed in the kiss. When he lifted his head, he also moved his fingertips away from their positions on her face and the two of them were back in the shelter of their cabin, the rain pounding on the roof, the children asleep on the other side of the room. Christine closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm surprised we didn't wake the kids," she whispered.

"We were quiet," he assured her. "You were simply remembering the first time."

She chuckled. "More than remembering evidently!" He was full inside her and she could feel the wetness of his ejaculation between her legs.

Spock lifted an eyebrow and smiled down at her. "Part of it was reality," he admitted.

"Mmmm..." She put her arms around his neck and pulled him back down to her, bringing his lips to hers. "Let's stick to all reality," she suggested and shoved her hips up against him.

He responded with a thrust into her depths, then settled into a soft, steady rhythm that would take them back to the excitement they had known so many times.

Beneath them, the ground suddenly moved in a shudder of its own, and this time it had nothing to do with thunder.

* * *

Spock stood looking down at the scene before him, trying to decipher what was wrong with it. Nothing came readily to mind. The wooded glade at the edge of the lake was peaceful, the water lapping quietly among the roots of the trees. Birds chirped and flittered in their branches, intent on tending and feeding their nestlings. In the reeds along the shore, water fowl swam with their ducklings, diving again and again for subsurface plants and insect larvae, minnows and tadpoles. On the other side of the inlet, deer were drinking, always one or two with raised head, alert for danger. Farther away, Spock could see a small herd of giant elk feeding, the cows and calves watched over by their herd stag, imposing and regal even without his crown of antlers. It was spring and he had shed them during the winter. He wouldn't begin to sprout the buds of new growth until early summer.

There was nothing in the least disturbing about the tranquil scene yet something about it was out of place. And then it came to Spock what was wrong with the picture before him — the water of the lake was up around the roots of the trees. Where in the previous autumn this land had been high and dry, now it was under water. Something had caused the lake to overrun its shoreline here at the lower end of its bed and it was flooding a section of trees with a gentle inundation. Possibly it was because of the spring rains, but Spock didn't think so. The mature trees that were growing here did not tolerate having their bases under water. They were already showing signs of distress and he thought they would be dead before the summer was out.

Disturbed, he turned and looked toward the far end of the valley where the peak of the dormant volcano rose into the blue sky, its summit still covered with a brilliant cap of snow that ran two-thirds of the way down its cone. Snow melt might account for the rise in water level, too, but again he was hesitant to accept that solely as the cause. The little earthquakes they'd been experiencing for months caused him to wonder if there wasn't more going on beneath the volcano than was obvious.

Determining to keep an eye on the mountain and any activity it might be displaying, Spock turned back to his hunting and started on his way to the far side of the lake, intent on bagging a deer.

* * *

Spring wore on in a succession of brilliant days and rainy ones. Sapel was now seven and T'Jenn one year old, in Terra Two reckoning. The boy was nine, however, in Earth years, and the toddler a year and a half. Christine had weaned her daughter over the winter months and gradually her breasts had returned to their normal size. But it seemed to Christine that they were not as taut as in her youth.

She stood one evening as she prepared for bed and lamented on the fact. "God," she commented, hefting her bare breasts with both hands. "I've gone from a 36C to a 54 long!"

Spock peered at her quizzically and his brows rose in question. "That is completely illogical, Christine."

"I know," she chuckled, "but it just goes to show what two kids and no bra will do to you! I feel like _'Federation Geographic_ Woman.'."

That brought a further quirk to Spock's brows.

"You know, those articles in the nature holozines? Those jungle women with the saggy boobs down to their waists?"

"Christine, your breasts are still quite shapely and beautiful," he replied, having over his years with Humans come to understand the importance Human women set in the size and shape of their mammary glands. He didn't begin to understand it, but it was a fact he had long ago accepted and learned to deal with. He had also learned that complimenting one's mate and reassuring her of her innate sexuality was ultimately rewarding. "In fact, if you will come to bed, I shall demonstrate the extent to which your body attracts me."

She laughed softly and did so. Spock could not tell if she was actually blushing or whether it was the ruddy light from the hearth fire that caused her skin to glow. In any case, she did indeed reimburse his compliment in full measure and it was some time before they lay in companionable silence, snuggled in post-coital drowsiness, although neither of them was truly sleepy.

In the darkness, they could hear Scruffy moving restlessly about and, at last, Christine got up. "Do you need out, sweetie?" she whispered.

The hunting cat gave a low, scratchy meow and the woman unbarred the hogan door. At once the sleek animal slipped out and disappeared into the darkness. Christine remained standing in the doorway, peering out at the moonlit lake sparkling in the night. Naked, her figure was limned with silver in an ethereal halo.

Spock joined her, one of the sleeping furs wrapped around his lower body, and slipped his arms around her from behind, pulling her against him. His body heat felt delicious next to her skin and she wriggled and murmured happily.

"What is it?" he asked close to her ear. "What are you observing?"

"Nothing," she answered, folding her arms over his. "It's just so beautiful out tonight. I wish it were warmer. I'd love a midnight swim."

"It is too early yet for that," he answered. "The water is still quite cold. I do not wish for you to become ill."

"No, not when we're about to be grandparents," she responded.

He drew back in surprise. "What? What are you talking about, Christine?"

She chuckled. "Scruffy. It's time."

"Do you mean she is..."

"Of course, silly! I thought you were more observant than that! She's been 'nesting' for days now and tonight she was especially restless and licking her flanks. She's gone off to have her kittens."

Spock stood in dumbfounded silence. "I have not noticed her girth increasing. She did not look pregnant to me."

Christine glanced over her shoulder with a patient, martyred expression. "No, I don't suppose a man would notice anything. But one mother can usually tell another mother. Especially if one of those mothers is a nurse. Believe me, when she comes back, she'll have babies in her pouch." Turning in his arms, she nestled against him. "Let's go back to bed. I'm cold and I need a little Vulcan heat to warm me up!"

He felt his manhood twitch in response. "Indeed, I am becoming chilled standing here as well. I do believe we will find ample warmth beneath our bed furs."

Mischievously, she reached down to stroke the hardening bulge below the fur wrapped around his middle. "Mmmm, I think something's getting warm under this fur! I think this might be just what we need to take the chill off!"

Breaking away, she moved with a graceful stride back to their bedding and he paused only to bar the door before following her.

* * *

The summer sun was setting in a blaze of orange as Christine tested the hares roasting over the open fire outside the hogan. Not far away, Sapel and T'Jenn were laughing and running in the soft grass that spread away to the lake shores, alternately playing with Scruffy's two half-grown kittens and chasing the glitterbugs that were starting to appear in the twilight. Little Jenny was naked, enjoying the warm air on her skin, but Sapel, befitting his more grownup status, was attired in his loin cloth. Otherwise, his burnished skin and long tangled black hair were his only adornments. It was too hot for anything else.

The day had been a scorcher and Christine had long ago moved their cooking hearth to the "yard" of their dwelling. Except during thunderstorms, they all lived outdoors now, the tiny cabin much too close and stifling to endure in high summer.

"Watch her, Sapel!" the woman called. "Don't let her go near the water."

"They are fine," Spock's voice said behind her and she looked up to find her husband standing behind her, his gaze turned introspectively toward the mountain that rose on the far northern gate of their valley. The peak was painted carnelian in the slanting sunlight, its snowcap pink and yellow. Its reflection in the still lake water was of a darker hue, but still looking as if a godchild had splashed it with brilliant pigments from a heavenly paint box.

"You're worried about something," Christine commented, turning back to her baking. She was grilling flat bread on her cooking stone, dipping out handfuls of grainy batter from a carved bowl and dropping it onto the hot surface of the level stone at the edge of the fire. After a minute, she gingerly caught up the edge and flipped it, allowing the other side to cook. The result was a tough, unleavened tortilla or pancake, one of their staple foods when she could find the grassheads ripe enough to harvest and grind to flour.

Spock glanced down at his wife, then returned his gaze to the mountain. "I have been surveying the area. I do not like what I am finding."

"About the volcano? What?" she asked, flipping a griddle cake off onto the waiting stack and starting another one. He strode forward a few paces until he was more even with her position. "The signs are pointing to a definite increase in activity. I believe we should begin making plans to winter at Sea Home."

Christine looked up at him, a crease of worry between her brows. "How bad? And how soon?"

"That I cannot tell," Spock replied. "I am not a geologist. However, it was a science with which I was required to be familiar in my duties as Science Officer."

His wife nodded. Although Spock's core profession was astrophysicist and he was a level A7 computer expert, he had more than a passing knowledge of all the sciences which he oversaw on board the _Enterprise_. Exogeology and planetary surveys were major functions of the Science Department. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Spock had the equivalent of a doctorate in the so-called "earth sciences."

Christine flipped another cake over. "All those little quakes are getting stronger and more frequent," she said. "I don't like that a bit."

"Indeed. It would indicate magma rising beneath the area," he agreed solemnly. "There is a definite bulge beginning to form on the southwestern flank of the mountain. If you know where to look, you can see it from here."

She glanced up, focusing on the peak, its summit still lit brilliantly with the last rays of the sun, now disappeared beneath the western horizon. "Hmmm ... I can't make it out."

"No matter. It is there. There are numerous other signs as well," Spock replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "However, volcanoes are notoriously unpredictable. It could erupt tomorrow or ten years from now."

"Well, I doubt it's going to go in the next hour. These hares are ready to eat." She removed the rabbits from directly before the fire and flipped the final piece of flat bread onto the stack of cakes already cooked. Raising her voice, she called, "Kids! Supper!!"

"Yippee!" Sapel answered and grabbed his sister's hand, leading her back to the cabin.

"Not so fast, mister," his mother stopped him. "You two get to that water bucket and wash your hands and faces first! Spock, help them, will you?"

"Yes." The Vulcan seemed to awake from his reverie and came back to the everyday world, going to help his children while his wife cleaned her own hands of bread batter and set out their simple wooden trenchers in preparation for their evening meal.

On the horizon, the final glimmer of sunlight faded and disappeared from the glacier‑capped mountain and twilight deepened into night.

* * *

"Mine!" screamed T'Jenn, grabbing determinedly for the honey cake Sapel was eating.

"Get your own, Jenn!" he yelled back, holding it out of her reach.

This only caused the toddler to increase the volume and octave of her protests until it was a full shriek. "Hush that noise NOW!" their mother commanded as their father simultaneously ordered, " _Kroykah!_ "

The children shut up instantly. Christine rose from her loom and stamped over to confront them. "Is that the last cake, Sapel?" she asked.

"I saw it first!" he protested.

"Give it to me."

Reluctantly the boy handed over the cookie. His mother broke it in half and awarded a section to each of the children.

T'Jenn squealed in glee and scampered off, but Sapel was decidedly affronted. "No fair!" he exclaimed. "I saw it first!"

His mother was unimpressed. "Who said life is fair?" she answered coolly. "Sometimes you have to share."

Grumbling, Sapel walked away, his half of the honey cake clutched in his fist. Christine returned to her work. She had been experimenting this summer with weaving, using various materials ranging from plant fibers to the undercoats of wool shed by the plains grazers. She'd been teaching herself by trial and error and was beginning to produce rough but serviceable cloth. Currently, she was at work on a blanket.

Spock was sitting cross-legged nearby, a leather hide spread over his lap, knapping flint into arrowheads and spear points. "Perhaps I should begin calling you 'Solomon'," he commented, his eyes crinkled in amusement. "You are very good at dispensing justice."

"Parents don't want justice," she responded. "They want quiet!"

Spock repressed a reflexive laugh by ducking his head and turning it into a little cough instead. Christine didn't miss it. "What do Vulcan parents do?" she asked.

"Vulcan parents have no need to mediate such disputes," he answered in his best, most logical manner. "Vulcan children are too well-behaved."

"In a pig's eye, as a friend of mine used to say." She glanced up in time to see him arch an eyebrow at her.

"Seriously, is such behavior normal among Human children?" he asked.

Christine laughed, her fingers weaving woolen threads across the warp of her loom. "Oh, yes! And worse! I used to have knock-down-drag-outs with my sisters. It's a wonder any of us survived." She clacked the loom comb down to seat the threads then started on the next row. "What about you and your brother?"

Spock paused for a few seconds while he chipped a point. "Sybok was 38 when I was born. I barely knew him. He was not welcome in our home."

"Of course. Sorry. I forgot." She looked up to watch her two children, now once more playing happily with the hunting cats. Scruffy was lying in the sun, keeping an eye on her kittens, not far now from their full growth. Over the winter to come, they would stay with their mother, but by spring she would drive them away as she mated and produced a new litter.

Christine sighed reflectively. "I think an only child misses something that one with siblings doesn't," she said.

"A great deal of conflict, it seems," Spock answered, testing the arrow point with his thumb. Satisfied, he set it aside and selected a flake of flint to begin on the next.

"Maybe, but you _do_ missing something."

The two worked in silence for a while, enjoying the relative peace that had returned, when abruptly the ground beneath them trembled. It was very slight and, had they both not been seated, they might have missed it. Both turned their gazes on the mountain and sat watchfully for a few moments. Nothing more happened except that they could see the steam plumes from the geysers at the far end of the lake billowing into the air.

"That's the third one today," Christine said in a serious voice.

"Indeed," Spock replied, his brows bunched together in concern.

"We need to talk about leaving here and going south."

"I know. I have given it considerable thought." Spock turned back to his tool making. "To begin, I do not know exactly where we are. We were farther west than we normally travel when we fled Lemuria. I do not wish to return by that route and risk being near Teeli territory. I am concerned enough about the proximity of Sea Home to the Lemurian conflict."

"Do you think they would come that far east?"

"Unknown." Spock was silent then continued, "I believe it would be wise to strike out due east from here. We may be no more than 200 to 250 miles from the valley and our cave home. If we went east, we would eventually come to territory with which we are familiar."

"Eventually," she repeated. "But when? And what will we find when we get there? We haven't been to the valley in two years. Who knows what may be living in our cave?"

"I have thought of that as well," Spock admitted. "The later in the year it becomes, the more reluctant I am to set out on a move. And yet ... the seismic activity here makes me reluctant to stay."

"I feel the same way," Christine answered, her hands busy at her loom. "It's about September now. My feminine intuition says, 'Don't go too far.' Particularly not when we don't know what we're going to run into. I've see the blizzards that can come sweeping down the plains east of here and I don't want to be caught in one!" She glanced up to find Spock looking at her and retorted, "I know! It's not logical!"

"No, but I have learned to heed your instinct," he responded. "I do not understand it, but I nevertheless recognize its existence." He paused and then went on in a faintly embarrassed tone, "My ... gut feeling is this. We stay here, but be watchful and prepared to flee should the need arise. We must put together an emergency kit and set it aside should we be forced to leave at a moment's notice. Otherwise, we will gamble that our restless neighbor will remain no more than that."

Christine turned her gaze toward the snow-clad volcano looming to the north, its beautiful symmetrical cone belying the fires that simmered beneath it. The steam plumes had drifted away over the lake, its crystal blue waters serene. From its western shore, a flight of black geese broke and thundered into the sky, turning south, their honks heard long after they had disappeared from sight. In their wake, the caldera valley lay in a deceptive quiet.

* * *

There was a definite nip in the night air that spoke of a coming storm, the first of winter, as Christine doffed her elk-hide wrap and let it slip to the ground. "Brrr," she commented, goosebumps rising from the cold air, and quickly shed her leggings, tunic and loin cloth. Naked, she waded into the hot water of the geyser run-off, here where it met the lake waters and had cooled enough to be tolerable.

Spock stood for a moment more, scanning their surroundings for any signs of danger. The evening was quiet and tranquil. Almost too quiet, in fact, as if the native wildlife had sensed the impending storm and were already holed up. Overhead, the stars shown in frosty brilliance and there was a hazy halo around the three small moons, a sign that ice crystals were prevalent in the upper atmosphere, the precursor of the snows to come.

Still, it would not hit before the early morning and the family had taken this last opportunity for a hot bath before they were stuck indoors for the winter. Christine had bathed the children earlier in the afternoon and they were now safely in bed at the hogan. They had left Sapel in charge of things there, watching over his baby sister, while the two adults went to bathe. T'Jenn had been fast asleep when they left and Sapel was drowsing as well. The three hunting cats, Scruffy and her almost grown kittens, Pudge and Ro, were curled next to the fire, paws curved inward and long striped tails wrapped around their bodies, slitted eyes blinking sleepily as they purred next to the cozy warmth.

Beside the door, emergency packs had rested unneeded for three months, packed with non‑perishable food, water, clothing and essentials. But, except for the constant, low-level earthquakes, there had been no further sign of seismic activity.

Even those had seemed to taper off of late and the family was beginning to breathe a sigh of relief. The danger from the volcano was beginning to pass.

"Are you coming in or not?" Christine asked from the water.

"Yes." He turned and smiled at her, then leaned his hunting spear next to a rock, within easy reach, and undressed as she had. Once he was naked, he waded out to join his wife, now shoulder deep in the steaming water. She watched him approach, her eyes roaming over his magnificent body, from his long, nearly waist-length black hair, over his muscled shoulders and chest, down his flat stomach to the dark patch of hair at the junction of his thighs and the long column of flesh jutting below that. Her gaze lingered there and she unconsciously wet her lips. Even flaccid, he was imposing and she felt a pulse of excitement between her legs as she looked at him, no matter that his body was soon hidden from view as he approached her in the deeper water.

Chest deep in the water, he took her in his arms and bent to kiss her, loving the feel of her body pressed to his, of her full breasts against his chest, her stomach meeting his, her groin embracing his rapidly hardening penis. She slipped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss full measure. Their lips parted and their tongues touched, playing together in the increasing heat of their mouths.

Then he broke the kiss and moved his lips to tease and nip at her throat and Christine tilted her head back to give him better access. He paused over her throbbing pulse and tickled her skin with the tip of his tongue, before suddenly latching on and sucking deeply at her skin. Christine writhed against him, caught between a laugh and a gasp.

"Stop!" she finally managed to get out. "You're going to leave a mark!"

"Yes," he answered, his voice a soft growl, his mouth barely a centimeter above her throat. "I want to mark you ... make you mine." He bent back to his work, the suction of his mouth once more clamped onto her neck.

She sighed and closed her eyes. "I _am_ yours, Spock," she whispered.

" _Du ki'avon-telik?_ " he murmured as he kissed his way back to her face and mouth. " _Vesht akarshif, lesh Vuhlkansu ulidar t'falek, t'salur mazhiv heh t'yon-dak yon-dukal._ "

Christine laughed. "Speak English, Spock! I don't understand what you're saying!"

His hands roamed down her back to find her buttocks, squeezing the soft globes and pressing her more firmly against the hard shaft caught between them. "I asked if you hungered," he replied between kisses. "In the past Vulcans burned with the intensity of our sun. Now I burn for you."

"Oh, yes!" she answered and sank against him, one hand going up to the back of his neck and pulling him back down to her. More fevered yet, their mouths moved together, tongues dancing with one another, and bodies beginning to move in the prelude of the ancient rhythm.

Hands leaving her buttocks, he slid his fingers up her sides until they reached her breasts, buoyant in the steaming water. Lifting both free of the surface, he bent and turned his attention to this part of her anatomy, his lips moving over the slick curves and rosy tips. She savored it for a long moment, then asked, "Are we going to bathe or make love?"

"Both." Spock tickled one taut nipple with his tongue then suckled it gently. Straightening, he gazed at her from beneath dark, heavy lashes, his arousal smoldering in the depths of his mahogany eyes. "Did you bring the soap?"

She laughed softly again and retrieved the hard grayish lump from atop a nearby rock. It was homemade soap, conjured from rendered fat and wood-ash lye, buffered with crushed herbs and flowers to tone down its smell and strength. It was crude and not very good soap, but the best formula she'd been able to concoct over the years. In any case, they had nothing else, short of scrubbing their skin with sand.

They rubbed the soap vigorously between their hands until they managed to build a lather, then washed each other as best they could, smoothing the suds over limbs and backs, helping reach difficult places, teasing over sensitive ones. Christine turned her back to Spock and lifted her hair up out of the way, nearly cooing as his big warm hands swept over her shoulders and down her spine. Then his arms came around her ribs and he cupped her breasts again, squeezing gently and pulling at her straining nipples until they rose even harder.

She leaned back against him with a sigh, then said, "Oh, darn, I dropped the soap."

"Never mind. Let it go." His mouth found the nape of her neck as he massaged her breasts and she could feel the hard shaft of his erection pressing between the cheeks of her buttocks.

Shivering, she turned in his arms and reached down to grasp the thick, pulsing rod, guiding it into the valley between her thighs. Without yet seeking entry, he moved his hips slowly back and forth, sliding his hot length against her, teasing her until she was gasping in response. "You're going to drive me mad like this!" she exclaimed.

"As you drive _me_ mad during the Mating Time," he murmured back, his own breath beginning to come short.

"Oh, God, Spock, I need you! Now!"

The fire in her blood burned across the bondlink between them and Spock, aflame with their combined need, responded to her plea. His hands grasping her firmly beneath her buttocks, he lifted her and backed her against one of the boulders protruding from the water. As her arms went around his neck and her legs slid around his hips, he steadied her and unerringly found the opening he sought, then with one powerful thrust slammed himself home within her.

Christine gave a gasping cry and dug her nails into his flesh as he began to pump into her forcefully, his own arousal too great to control. Feeding upon each other's excitement, they built together toward climax, Spock's teeth clenched in fierce concentration, Christine's head thrown back and a sob of elation issuing from her throat with each impact of his pelvis against hers. His hips picked up their tempo and force and she felt him swell to rock-like hardness within her, then he missed a beat, slammed into her again, and with a deep groan he was there. Fire flooded into her depths, bringing a scream from her lips as his orgasm exploded within her, both physically and mentally, detonating a like convulsion of her own.

The lake bottom underneath their feet convulsed and the waters around them danced in agitation. Neither noticed, too engulfed in their mutual rapture. Only when Christine began to come down and breathe again did she exclaim, "Oh, Spock, look! The geysers are erupting!" That brought on a paroxysm of laughter. "Oh, lord, how Freudian can you get! All we need now are fireworks and cannons going off!"

"I will endeavor to achieve that for you then," he answered somewhat breathlessly. He was still hard within her, not yet sated, but he let her down and pulled out of her. The waters around them were hotter, bubbles rising up, as the flow from the geysers ran down to the lake in steaming rivulets. Christine was sweating from the heat and her skin beginning to turn red, although the heat felt good to him.

"Let's move up nearer shore," he suggested and they waded to where the water lapped onto the sandy beach. There they sank down into ankle-deep water, using its warmth to keep from being chilled by the night air but more comfortable than the depths where they had stood before. Christine prostrated herself atop him, straddling him without allowing penetration, and leaned to kiss him, resuming their love play. In response, he grasped her breasts in both hands and lifted his head to nuzzle and lick them, finally pulling one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. The woman groaned, thrusting out her chest to give him better access, and he moved back and forth between the turgid nipples, nursing first one then the other.

Finally, Christine pulled away from him and bent to tease his own nipples with her tongue, biting gently, kissing, sucking, until the hard masculine nubs were swollen and taut. She went to trail her tongue down his stomach, but the fire within him was too great to allow much play. Grasping her shoulders suddenly, he rolled her onto her back, and in one smooth motion he was atop her, his hips spreading her legs wide apart.

" _i'Aduni t'hy'la_ ," he rumbled, his deep voice like thunder, wriggling himself into position between her thighs. "I burn for thee! My heart is flame! My eyes are flame!"

"I burn to feel thy flame," she whispered back, her fevered gaze locked into his, not quite sure if she spoke aloud or through their bond, in English or in Vulcan. Then her thoughts moved into pure, Human lust. "Oh, gods, fuck me, Spock! Fuck me 'til my teeth rattle!"

With an almost animal growl, he plunged into her again and all his innate civilization fell away. The primal ancestor that was a part of him took over and he became that barbaric warrior, taking his woman in the surrounds of the wild, as terrifying and untamed as the seething volcano looming above them. Below them the ground rolled again and, again, the couple was too absorbed in their mating to notice. Instead, the barely harnessed fury of the earth fed the inferno inside them and the laboring man redoubled his thrusts, the pile driver force of his blows lifting her hips up with their power. The woman bucked beneath him, her head rolling from side to side in the agonizing ecstasy that threatened to overwhelm her, the unleashed Vulcan potency more than her Human strength could withstand.

He was lost in it now and abruptly came up onto his knees, hands gripping her buttocks, dragging her hips up with him so that they stayed firmly coupled. There, gaining more leverage, his thrusts resumed with even more force as his climax built to irresistible pressure. With a guttural, deep-throated howl, Spock slammed into her a final time and exploded with a gush of burning lava, pumping into her with a force she had seldom known. His orgasm blasted through her psyche with such power that blackness threatened to close in around her consciousness.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath them suddenly jolted in a terrifying wrench, slapping him forward onto her, knocking the breath from both their bodies.

For a second both lay stunned, then the lake waters went into a wild dance as the land undulated in a frantic jitter and a deep, subterranean rumble reverberated like the sustained blast of a monstrous cannonade. Within that second, the two were shaken back into the horrible reality of their situation.

"Jesus, God and Mary," whispered Christine, staring in terror over Spock's shoulder.

He didn't waste time on oaths. Scrambling to his feet, he jerked her up and practically flung her toward the shore. "Quick! Get dressed! Hurry!!"

It took them about three minutes to get their clothes on and grab their belongings, all the while listening to the volcano begin to tear itself apart, rocks crashing down its side, snapping full grown trees as they went, booming explosions as steam and gas began to rip their way up through cracks and vents, the hiss and scream of molten bombs being shot from the collapsing crater at the summit.

Then Spock and Christine were running with all their might toward their camp, hoping beyond hope that they would make it before the mountain exploded and wreaked its full fury on the surrounding countryside.

* * *

Sapel was frantic when his parents appeared out of the gloom, disheveled and with wet hair flying behind them. The boy was standing outside the door of the hogan, his little sister clinging to his leg and crying hysterically, as Spock and Christine panted to a stop.

"Mama! Papa! What's going on?!" the boy demanded, near tears himself.

Christine snatched her little daughter up and hugged her tight. Behind her, in the distance, the volcano emitted another fusillade and even in the darkness they could see the column of black ash and smoke roiling skyward.

"No time!" Spock answered. "Get the emergency packs! We've got to get away from here!"

Hurriedly backpacks were donned, weapons and sleeping skins were grabbed, and then the family was running as fast as they could up the slope behind their home. Christine looked back for a second and exclaimed, "Where are the cats?!"

"Gone," Sapel answered. "They took off when the earthquake hit!"

"We can't look for them," Spock stated, urging his wife and son on. "We must trust in their instinct to survive! Hurry!"

The ground shuddered beneath them, causing Christine to go down on one knee. She was carrying T'Jenn and nearly dropped the child, but Spock caught his wife's arm and pulled her back to her feet. They ran on into the night, through the forest whose trees swayed with each ground shock, showering sticks and any remaining leaves down on the fleeing group.

Then they were out of the trees and onto the open plains. Around them, terrified deer and elk, hares and tree-springers, tortoises and leapers, animals of every kind stampeded from the forest and to the safety of the prairies. The booming thunder from the volcano rolled over the night and above them the stars were being rapidly blotted out by the spreading ash cloud, now lit with streaks of forking purple lightning.

They were about two miles away when the shock wave from the greatest explosion of all knocked them to the ground. Spock scrambled to his knees and yelled, "That gully! Get in it and cover your heads!"

The four lurched and crawled forward and tumbled into the marginal shelter of a creek meandering across the prairie.

It was no more than a few feet deep, but there was nothing else. Frantically, the parents shoved their children against the bank nearest the eruption, covering them with their bodies, and then pulled their sleeping furs over all of them, making sure their heads were well protected. Then they hung on for dear life.

It was not a moment too soon. The sound wave and debris cloud hit them almost simultaneously, blasting over them like a hurricane from the depths of hell. Hot ash rained on them as the earth bucked in cataclysm for a long moment, burying them in a gray blanket, and behind them the peak continued to thunder destruction as the lava plug in the volcano's crater disintegrated in the full-throated roar of an unleashed inferno.

The air was choking, but the thick animal hides offered some protection from the smothering atmosphere and heat. The debris cloud quickly passed and the quake settled into a constant trembling. After what seemed an eternity, Spock cautiously peeked from beneath the ash‑laden bison hide. The movement caused the dusty covering of ash to fill the air and they had to wait a moment for it to settle once more.

The volcano was crowned by a column of fire shooting skyward, bright and hellish against the dark night, bombs and other pyrotechnics exploding from it like fireworks. The forest was on fire, too, ignited by the blast. The winter-dry timber and leaf cover on the woodland floor were proving excellent fuel and Spock could only thank the gods that they had made it through those woods before they burst into flame.

Overhead the sky was covered with the angry, boiling clouds of the still climbing volcanic plume, lit red-orange as it reflected the fury of the eruption and shot through with the blinding flashes of crawling lightning. Thankfully, the wind was out of the northeast and was blowing the bulk of the ash cloud away from them, but a fine sifting still fell like snow. It was hot, however, searingly so in some cases, as live embers drifted down and, in the few places where the dry grass showed through the ash cover, it was beginning to smolder and burn. Fortunately, there weren't many such places and the fires did not spread.

"We're still too close to it," Spock said as Christine and the children emerged. "We've got to get as far away as we can. If the wind changes and blows the ash cloud this way, we'll suffocate."

All four were coughing from the fine dust that covered everything and they lingered long enough to drench face masks in the little creek, tying them over their noses and mouths before starting out once more.

The journey through the night was hellish. Beneath their feet the ash was hot and many times seemed on the verge of burning through the thick bull-hide moccasins they wore. More than once Spock, Christine and Sapel sank ankle to knee-deep in the drifts. Only T'Jenn escaped this, riding on her mother's back. But worse still, every step stirred up a fog of the volcanic particles, making their eyes sting furiously, coating them all from head to toe in the powdery gray substance until the four resembled wraiths stumbling through the depths of Hades.

Around them, bewildered animals that had survived the blast now staggered blindly about, slowly choking to death as the asphyxiating ash filled their lungs. The people sent sympathetic gazes their way, but there was nothing they could do. To stop and put the animals out of their misery was time they could not afford to lose. Every step farther away from the thundering volcano might be the one that insured their own survival.

It was dawn, its peach-colored light barely staining the heavy shelf of volcanic clouds, before Spock called a halt to rest. They had walked over ten miles and were beginning to come out of the ashfall area. At least patches of grass were beginning to appear in the lee of the hills. There was still a light covering of gray dust, but nothing like what they had trudged through all night.

He pulled his mask down to his chin and took a cautious breath of air. Surprisingly, it was sharp and clean and cold, the brisk north wind bringing with it a bite that wrenched his thoughts back to the rest of the world at hand. Was it only yesterday that they had been happily and snugly ensconced in the little round hogan on the lake shore, waiting for the first winter storm to strike?

It seemed weeks ago and the heat of the volcanic ash had turned their minds more toward surviving that than anything else. Now Christine shed her mask as well and turned her face into the chill wind that gusted over them, stripping off their powdery covering into a trailing halo, whipping their plastered hair into clumps. She saw now that the dawn clouds in the east were different from the plume of the volcano, still rumbling away to their west. These were lighter gray, low and frosty looking, heavy with moisture and ice, and the wind brought with it a crispness that was all too familiar.

"I'm cold, Mama," Sapel said wearily, leaning against his mother's leg.

On Christine's back, Jenny whimpered, "Hun'gy!" She began to cry fitfully.

Spock and Christine exchanged miserable looks as they surveyed their situation. Here in the midst of the open plains, there was no shelter, no trees, nothing save low rolling hills with parched grass laid flat by the wet, rising wind. They had no food or water except what had been stowed in their packs and only the heavy sleeping furs for warmth. Behind them lay fire and destruction. Ahead was only desolation and endless miles of empty prairie.

With desperation and hopelessness, Spock and Christine clutched their children against them and watched in despair as it began to snow.

 

END OF PART NINE

PART TEN – "EAST OF EDEN" – FOLLOWS

 


	10. Year Ten -- East of Eden

**Present Day**

With a mighty heave, Spock thrust the final log away from the opening he was creating in the mass of collapsed timbers that had once been a cabin. He paused to catch his breath, then leaned down and called into the dark hole.

"Christine! Sapel! Jenn! Can anyone hear me?"

"Papa!" came back Sapel's voice, echoed by T'Jenn's and the baby's weak cry. "Papa! Mama's hurt. I don't think she can get out!"

Spock leaned farther and peered into the collapsed structure. "You children come to me," he instructed. When the two oldest had crawled into the light, the Vulcan instructed, "Sapel, help Jenny up to reach me."

The eleven-year-old boy lifted up his younger sister and their father caught her hands, pulling her up to safety. "Now go get T'Kai," Spock ordered and the boy disappeared back into the dark. While he was gone, Spock took the opportunity to check over his little daughter. "Are you injured anywhere?" he asked, running his hands over her limbs and torso.

"I'm okay," the girl answered. "I just got a bumpie on my head." She rubbed at her filthy brown hair.

Dutifully, Spock peered at her scalp. "It is red, but I believe it will be all right." A child's crying interrupted him as Sapel reappeared with his year-old sister in his arms. "You go stand down there," Spock directed T'Jenn and lay down on his stomach. "Hold her up, Sapel."

The boy lifted the toddler into his father's reach and the whimpering child was brought up into the sunlight. There, the baby blinked and quieted in her father's familiar arms. After he had spent a moment comforting her, he did a quick exam of his youngest child, found her scraped and bruised, but otherwise unharmed, then took her down to be held by T'Jenn.

Spock returned and directed Sapel, "Give me your hands and I will pull you out."

"What about Mama?"

"I will check her as soon as you three are safe."

"You might need my help."

Spock almost smiled. "I _do_ need your help, _cha'i_ ," he said. "I need for you to watch over your sisters right now. If I am unable to get your mother to safety by myself, then I will require your assistance."

Sapel nodded and reached up until his father's large hands engulfed his smaller ones. He was quickly pulled up and he had his first look at the wreckage left in the wake of the hurricane.

" _Kah!_ " he exclaimed. "It's all gone!"

Spock sighed. "Very nearly so. Watch your sisters now. Be careful!" With that, the Vulcan dropped into the opening and made his way towards the rear of their demolished cabin, being forced to go down on his hands and knees through the debris. Far at the back, underneath the stone overhang, he found Christine lying pinned beneath a log that had caved in from the ceiling.

"Christine!" Spock exclaimed and reached out to touch her. His wife groaned and moved her head. "How badly are you hurt?"

"My leg," she answered. "My left leg is broken, I know. I can't move it."

"It is held down by this log beam," he answered. "I will lift it, then try to pull your leg free."

It was difficult to gain enough leverage on his knees to shift the heavy timber, even with his Vulcan strength, but with his muscles straining, Spock finally managed to raise the beam a few inches.

"Now!" he said through gritted teeth. Christine tried to move her leg but cried out in pain. "I can't hold this, Chris! Move!!"

She took her thigh in both hands and, with a supreme effort, yanked her leg free. The movement was agonizing and she nearly blacked out as a result. Spock dropped the log clear of her and sucked in a deep breath. Then he turned his attention to his wife.

"I must set this before I can move you," he said, gently manipulating her lower leg, his long fingers locating the break in the tibia about midpoint of her shin. "I shall be back shortly."

Spock crawled away toward the front of the cabin, now a jumble of logs. Cautiously moving through the wreckage, he located a broken spear shaft and a length of braided bow string. There was one of T'Kai's rabbit-skin blankets as well and he snatched that up, then made his way back to where Christine lay.

As gently as he could, he straightened her leg, then wrapped the blanket around it and braced it with the spear lengths. Then he bound it with the bow string to hold the splint in place. Christine was white and drenched with sweat by the time he was done. He let her recover for a few minutes, then said, "This next will not be easy. I must drag you through the deadfall in order to get you out."

"I know," she answered. "Let's get on with it."

It took half an hour to move her the few feet to the opening and again she nearly fainted from the pain. As they rested, Spock touched her face softly and sent comforting thoughts her way. Still pale, Christine opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"You're doing fine, love," she told him. "Don't worry about hurting me."

"I _do_ , however," he responded and leaned to kiss her lips lightly. "I must get you out of here and you cannot climb." Spock stood and called, "Sapel!"

There was a scrambling sound and the boy appeared, peering down. "Yes, Pa?"

"Come down here. I need your help now."

Obediently, Sapel dropped the short distance into the opening. Spock continued. "Christine, I want you to stand — Sapel will brace you. I'll pull you out of here then help him out once more."

She nodded and, with aid from her son and husband, got to her feet, balancing on her good leg and leaning on Sapel. Spock jumped and caught the log that anchored the opening, one of the long roof beams, and hefted himself clear. Once out, he pulled Christine free as he had done with the children, then brought Sapel out again.

With all five of them now reunited, the family moved to a relatively clear spot and sat on a log to gather themselves together and assess the situation. And it was here that the shock of it all began to set in.

Christine slumped and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Spock... it's all gone. Everything we've worked to accomplish... everything we've done to survive... All of it." She began to cry hopelessly. Indeed, it did seem that they had been wiped out yet again. The hurricane had demolished their cabin, blown down trees as if a gigantic scythe had mowed the forest in its deadly sweep, soaked everything that was left. Off to the side of the cabin, the lean-to and corral that had housed the _mesohippus_ mare and her newborn colt was gone. The two animals were nowhere to be seen. Whether they were dead or had escaped, Spock could not tell. Although how they could have survived the storm's fury, he could not fathom.

Their home was a smashed pile of stone and wood, filled with mud and water and detritus. At first glance, it appeared that everything they possessed was either destroyed or ruined. The food cache was buried under the debris, their firewood was soaked through from the hours of constant, pouring rain, and they had only the clothes on their backs, all of it filthy and torn.

Christine needed medical attention but there was little that Spock could do for her under these conditions. As he watched, she slipped down off the log, unable to sit any longer and now lay sprawled in the mud, weeping from pain and grief.

Picking up on their mother's despair, T'Jenn and T'Kai began to cry as well and even Sapel, slumped against his father's arm, could not control the trembling of his chin.

Overcome with a weariness and anguish he had never felt before, Spock leaned forward and, resting his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands. It was too much. It was all too much. This planet had tried every dirty trick and vicious attack it knew to kill them. They had survived floods and blizzards, tornadoes and fires, war and erupting volcanoes, each time clawing their way back to a survival level. Every now and then they managed to get two steps ahead of it, but the planet never gave up, never ceased looking for an angle it hadn't tried before. Wolves and lions, starvation and ceaseless toil to find food, children dead and countless injuries to all of them ... they had survived them all.

But it never gave up. Never stopped. Exhausted now almost beyond the capacity for rational thought, Spock raised his head, haggard and hollow-eyed, and stared sightlessly ahead of him. To start over ... again ... was more than he could deal with right now. It had seemed that way the last time, too, he remembered. The last time this damned planet had contrived to drive them from its lands forever...

* * *

**Year Ten**

The snow was falling faster than ever when Spock finally arrived back at the meager shelter they'd found. It was only another creek bank, cut back a little by long ago floods and now offering a small platform above the trickle of water still unfrozen in the stream that ran beside them. Spock had trekked back towards their abandoned valley and the erupting volcano at its head, until he found what he was searching for — the carcass of an elk asphyxiated by ashfall but unspoiled as yet by predators. He had heaved the big animal over his shoulders and trudged back to where he had left his family.

While he'd been gone, Christine and the children had hunted over the fast-disappearing grass, the snow falling steadily now under a leaden sky, in search of fuel for a fire. On the treeless plains, there was no wood and they were reduced to collecting dried bison dung. There was plenty of it and Christine made a point of noting where more could be found. They lugged back as much as they could carry, enough to get a fire going but not enough to last through the night. Christine had sent Sapel on several trips for more fuel before the snow became too heavy.

Laying the buffalo chips in a mound, Christine got their Romulan fire starter out of her pack. It had long ago run out of fuel, but the friction sparks it could still generate soon had the fire crackling and hissing as snowflakes drifted down onto it.

The smoke rising from the fire gave Spock a good homing beacon and he soon arrived to find his family huddled around the blaze. His first order of business was to skin the elk and, when this was accomplished, he lugged the raw hide down to the rudimentary campsite.

"Give me your hunting spear, Sapel," he said. When the boy had complied, Spock stuck the end of it deep into the dirt of the creek shelf. He anchored his own spear beside it, then hefted the hide up and impaled it on the spear points, fur side in.

Angled into the north wind, it provided a wind break and canopy over the group, blocking the frigid wind and snow. Once this was done, Spock went back up to where he'd left the carcass and dragged it farther away from the camp. The scent of blood on the wind would soon attract scavengers and he wanted it far enough away that his family would not be harmed.

Before he left it, though, he drew out his steel hunting knife and carved out two big chunks of meat from the haunches. These he took back with him. It was enough to last them a couple of days and he didn't plan to stay here any longer than necessary. His goal lay far to the east — their valley home and the snug cave where they had lived for so long. But how far away it was — and even where — was something Spock did not yet know.

The chunks of meat were sliced thin and these cooked on knife points over the smoky fire. Still fairly rare, they were not an especially satisfying meal but nearly all there was. Supplemented by journey bread in their packs, it at least filled their stomachs. Sapel bore it stoically, but little Jenny cried fitfully until she finally fell asleep. She was about a year and a half old and barely weaned, but had been on solid food since late summer. Christine longed now to nurse her, but she no longer had milk to offer her baby daughter. The fact added to the misery the woman was feeling as she hugged the child against her body to keep her warm at least.

Their bodies huddled together under the worn fur blankets they had grabbed from the cabin generated enough heat to ward off the worst of the cold as night began to fall, the darkness coming early due to the heavy overcast. Sapel snuggled between his parents and listened to their soft conversation.

"What now, Spock?" Christine asked in a quiet voice, rocking T'Jenn in an almost unconscious motion of comfort.

"We wait out this storm," Spock answered in a like voice. "I think it will be over by morning. It's too early in the year for much of a snowstorm. After we eat tomorrow morning, we'll strike out to the east."

"Across the plains?"

"It is either that or go back south and risk encountering Teeli war parties."

Christine's brows came together slightly in thought. "I don't believe that will be a problem," she said finally.

"Indeed?"

"Yes. I don't think they'll be this far north in the winter. I think they'll stay on the coast."

Spock was silent for a while as he mulled that over. "Possibly," he finally said. "Very possibly."

"There'll be more game south of here," Christine continued her argument.

"Yes..."

"We know the hills, too, and—"

"Very well, wife!" Spock's eyes were crinkled in amusement. "You have persuaded me! But we will not go so far south as the ship crash. I do not want to get into lion territory either. And we will continue to work our way back toward the valley. That is my ultimate goal. I do not believe we are more than one hundred fifty miles from— What's that?!"

Spock and Christine both jerked alert at the scrambling sound coming from the creek bank just above them. They had their knives at the ready at once and Sapel also pulled his obsidian blade and was poised to use it.

There was a small shower of dirt and snow from the rim, then a little head appeared, wide green eyes huge in an ash-caked face. Scruffy gave a glad meow and jumped down to greet her family. As the exultant reunion took place, there was a second crumble of dirt and another lithe little body landed among them.

"Ro!" exclaimed Sapel and made to grab Scruffy's nearly grown daughter. The hunting cat, however, squawled in pain and jerked away.

"She's hurt," Christine said and held out her hand to the kitten. "Come here, Rosy, baby. What's wrong, sweetie?"

After a moment, the cat made her way to the woman she knew so well. Quickly, Christine did an exam. "She's burned pretty bad. Here, see her flank?"

"Where's Pudge?" the boy wondered aloud, looking up, expecting to see the other kitten follow his mother and sister, but the night was quiet again.

"He may not have made it, honey," Christine said gently.

Sapel's face crumpled at the thought and T'Jenn, awake now and attuned to the emotions so strongly saturating the campsite, began to cry again.

Spock interceded strongly. "We cannot look for him tonight," he said. "We will search briefly in the morning, but at present there is nothing to be done. The cats must fend for themselves as best they can." He saw the look of distress on his son's face and his voice softened. "We will not abandon them, Sapel, but we cannot sacrifice ourselves for them either. Going out into the night would result in almost certain death, either from cold or attack by predators. They are wild animals, son, even though they choose to live with us. Scruffy has been feeding and caring for herself for over a year now and the kittens are the same. They are wild. In the spring, Scruffy will drive them both away to mate again and they will soon find mates of their own. Thus the cycle will continue as it has continued long before we came here. It is their way."

"I know, but I don't like it," the boy answered, hanging his head. After a moment, he looked back up. "I want to feed them!"

"By all means," his father nodded. "There is plenty of meat left."

Sapel offered the scraps of their meal to the hunting cats and Scruffy began to eat immediately, evidently starved after her long journey tracking her Human family across the plains. After a moment, Ro joined in, gnawing off meat with her sharp molars and swallowing it nearly whole. After their stomachs were full, both cats had a drink from the creek, then returned to the relative warmth of the fire, licking blood from their own and each other's faces, grooming and seeking comfort in their surroundings.

Ro snuggled against her mother's side, trembling, her eyes nearly black as her hugely expanded pupils searched the darkness beyond the firelight. Up on the plains, scavengers had found the elk carcass and the sound of battle, feasting and pain rode on the howl of the north winds. But nothing came near the refuge on the creek bank and all eventually fell asleep, save Spock, who did not sleep and watched throughout the night.

* * *

"Spock, I've got to stop and rest," Christine panted and sat down on an outcropping of rock.

Her husband paused and turned to look at her. "I would like to make several more miles before we camp," he said.

"I'm not talking about camping," she answered and put T'Jenn down onto her own two feet. "But we need a break!"

Sapel plunked wearily beside his mother. "Yeah, Papa, we're all tired."

"Hun'gy," echoed Jenny.

Faced with across-the-board mutiny, Spock sighed. "Very well. I suppose a break for a meal would not be out of the question. That flat spot should be out of the wind and be suitable to build a fire."

"Hallelujah!" Christine muttered and got to her feet, reaching down to take her little daughter's hand. They had been on the move for over a month now, making their way southeastward into the hills that rose from the plains and marked the rocky outriders of the mountain range far to the west. Long behind them was the Eden-like valley they had been forced to flee, although from the right perspectives they could still see the long gray plume of the volcano as it continued its eruption, now fitful after its initial blast.

Here in the hills there was more shelter and fuel than on the open plains directly to the east, but Spock was nevertheless determined to lead them in that direction. Somewhere eastward was the valley they had occupied for so long, its sheltered cave offering a snug haven. But it had been over two years since they had last been there and, in their wanderings, they had lost their bearings. East. That was all they knew.

All of them were sick and hungry, growing thin from the constant travel and persistent colds that sapped their strength. Even Spock was suffering a mild version of the cough and stuffiness that had plagued the Human woman and children since they had been forced to contend with the constant wind and damp chill of the oncoming winter.

It was starting to catch up with all of them, tempers flaring as stamina wore down. Christine had already determined that they could not keep up the pace at which Spock was driving them. As they moved down off the hill top and onto the level area at the base of the rocky rise, she saw what she'd been looking for.

Facing southward, the tor was broken by an exposed rocky cut, forming an overhang that offered shelter. Moreover, scrubby bushes on either side partially blocked the wind and there was enough to provide firewood for a short period of time, a couple of weeks perhaps, and she could see a little creek meandering around the base of the hill, within easy distance to fetch water.

Christine headed for the overhang, children in tow, and let a smile crease her dust-smeared face as she stepped out of the cold wind. It felt warmer already. Spock followed, his face unreadable underneath the full black beard he had grown over the past weeks.

"Here!" Christine declared with finality and shrugged her pack off her shoulders.

"Christine, I do not want to camp yet," he stated, aware now of her intentions.

She turned to confront him, determined to stand her ground. "Fine — hit the road! But the kids and I are parking it here until I determine we're well enough to go on!"

One dark eyebrow crawled up his forehead in response. "Indeed, wife! Have you now taken over leadership of our family?"

Her blue eyes narrowed in warning. "Don't pull that Vulcan macho shit on me, Spock! You know how far you'll get with it!"

For a long moment the two engaged in a stare-down contest, then he sighed and backed off. "Very well. It is useless to fight you when your mind is made up."

"Only because I'm right and you know it," Christine responded with a little smile transforming her face. "We're all sick as dogs and we've got to rest and get better. I don't want four cases of pneumonia on my hands!"

"Logical," he conceded and doffed the large pack he carried. "Well, since we must stop, this appears to an adequate location to do so."

"I think so too. First then, let's get a fire going and see what we can find to eat. Sapel, you're on firewood detail."

The boy wiped his runny nose and complained, "Aw, Mama, I always hafta—"

"Sweetie, we all have our jobs," his mother answered. "I know you don't feel good, but the sooner we get the fire going, the sooner we'll have hot food."

"Come, _cha'i_ ," Spock said, laying his hand on his son's shoulder and steering him toward the scrub brush. "I shall help you gather wood. Then we can all rest."

* * *

The rocks had proved the location of a colony of giant hamster-like animals, the size of hares, and by the time dark descended, there were three lean rodents sizzling on spits over the fire. Christine had pulled out the one cooking basket she'd managed to rescue from the hogan in Eden Valley and had a small amount of stew bubbling in that, too. It was a technique she had remembered from survival training long in the past. Heated stones were added to the liquid in the basket and kept moving with a wooden paddle. The heat transferred to the food but the stones did not rest in one place long enough to risk burning a hole through the reed basket.

The soup was for T'Jenn who was the sickest of the four of them. The toddler lay wrapped in a fur near the campfire, shivering with fever, her nose crusted with purulent discharge. Christine desperately wished for any of the medicinal herbs she knew of, but the little cache she had stored in the emergency packs was long since gone. The best she could do was keep her daughter warm, get protein-rich broth into her, and hope the child could beat the infection on her own.

Sapel was handling it better, having Spock's hardy Vulcan constitution. Nevertheless, the boy huddled close to the fire, sneezing occasionally and wiping his nose on his sleeve. Christine had an urge to tell him to use a tissue, but of course that was absurd. The nearest tissue was ... how many lightyears away?

The thought of such every day luxuries made Christine pause and gaze up wistfully at the stars just appearing in the sky. At home, all she would need to do was give each of them a quick shot of Antivir and the colds would be gone. Of course, at home it would be unlikely that any of them would have colds in the first place. Such things were nearly unheard of in modern day, controlled environments. Most diseases of Earth origin had been either eradicated or were controlled with inoculations. It was the alien bugs encountered as people moved farther out into the stars that kept 23rd century medics in business.

Christine turned her attention back to the soup and noted that it was steaming and bubbling to her satisfaction. She lifted her wooden spoon from stirring the broth, blew on it, and delicately tasted the liquid, mindful of its temperature. Almost ready.

T'Jenn shifted and whimpered a bit, then settled down once again. Christine checked to make sure her little daughter was not in distress then gave the hot stones in the cooking basket another swirl.

A slight noise made her look up to find Spock coming back into the firelight. "All quiet," he reported and sank gracefully into a cross-legged seat beside the spits that held the roasting rabbits. Drawing his knife, he probed the lean flesh and nodded. The meat was done and ready to eat.

"I wish we had some vegetables to add to this," Christine said. "There's nothing here but protein and fat."

"Plant foods will be hard to find," Spock answered. "We will simply have to make do."

"I'll scout around tomorrow," she answered. "There might be _something_ we can use."

T'Jenn sat up, sneezed and then coughed. " Mama, I hun'gy," she said.

"Oh, I know you are, baby girl," her mother answered soothingly. "I'll have some good soup for you in just a minute."

As she spooned some of the broth into a stone bowl to cool, she said, "Sapel, come get something to eat, sweetie. You'll feel better when you do."

* * *

They spent nearly a month at the rock shelter before deciding that the limited food supply there had run out. Even Scruffy and Ro were only turning up mice, which the family could not bring themselves to eat.

When the weather permitted by turning sunny and cold, they broke camp and headed out once more, turning northeast into the brisk wind that blew down over the plains. For two more weeks, they traveled through the foothills, taking advantage of any small game they found there, reluctant to strike out east over the open prairie.

But there was no good place to camp and each day they moved on, hoping to find someplace — _anyplace_ — to make a long term campsite. The hills smoothed out into rolling plains, the sere yellowed grass bending before the wind where it wasn't covered with snow, but no shelter presented itself in the undulating land that stretched to the horizon.

Finally there came a day when Spock stood on a high point of ground and looked first eastward and then back to the west. He stood there for a long time and Christine let him be, aware that he was weighing all the factors about going on or turning back. To the east lay their valley home, but they would have to trek across miles of open, featureless steppe to get there. Whether there would be food or water was unknown.

To the west was an ash-covered purgatory, ravaged by the dragon's breath of volcanic fire. The peak continued its eruption and its ashfall changed at the whim of the wind. Even this far east, they sometimes were forced to endure the stinging rain of gray dust and cinders that poured into the atmosphere from the rumbling mountain on the western frontier.

Southward the hills stretched in rocky, barren mounds of gray granite, their thin soil cover supporting only the hares and other small game that had been their sustenance for the past few weeks.

North was only more miles of arid plains, deserted by the majority of the big game animals. The only ones that wintered over were the scattered herds of bison, the huge animals powerful enough to scrape away the snow cover to find the dried grass that lay below. They had no predators except the lupine creatures that Spock and Christine had early on dubbed "werewolves."

A pack of such animals had nearly killed Spock their first winter here on Terra Two and a rogue male had snatched their newborn daughter, T'Larin, moments after Christine had given birth. The death of the child had driven Spock over the edge of madness and it had taken a painful pilgrimage into the wilderness before his grief was purged and he made his way home.

But that was in the past. Spock's dilemma now was which direction to lead his family. Logic told him to go back south or west where there lay a more certain chance of finding food, shelter and water. But his instinct, his gut feeling, pulled him eastward. Valley Home wasn't far. He felt it in the very coursing of his blood. He could not explain why he felt this way, when every fiber of Vulcan training demanded the safer route. Perhaps his Ancestors were speaking through his katra, urging him on a way only they could foresee.

 _Do you trust me?_ whispered a faint female voice deep within his mind.

 _T'Oman?_ Spock answered with a start. The voice was of his many-times-great grandmother, his spirit guide of the Ancestors within his soul. _Yes, I do_.

 _Then trust me!_ her voice replied with surety.

Spock's brows went up but he understood. It was a test of faith. The Grandmother had not abandoned him or steered him wrong yet. Her calmness and assurance flooded through him like warm honey and he relaxed as he put himself into her ancient hands.

East. They would go east and he would trust the Ancestors to lead them safe to their ultimate destination.

* * *

Christine blew on her numbed hands until she got a bit of feeling back in them, then grasped the digging stick and resumed pounding the frozen earth at the base of the cattails in the dry creekbed. The stalks and leaves were withered and dry, but beneath them their roots should be thick with stored nourishment, dormant until spring brought new shoots bursting forth. They wouldn't taste very good and would be fibrous even after cooking, but it was all she'd been able to find.

Shifting, Christine turned her back to the wind that blew ceaselessly across the plains and cut through her like a knife. It was damp and smelled of snow, but her mind was only on finding food. They hadn't eaten in two days and had been on reduced rations for six before that. Spock and Sapel were hunting, trying to bag something ... _anything_ ... they could eat. Snuggled against her chest in her sling, T'Jenn dozed or possibly was unconscious. The child had ceased her whimpering and was ominously quiet, only her body's warmth and small movements letting her mother know she still lived.

It satisfied Christine, her mind as numbed as her wind-burned face. Her only hope of reviving her daughter was to get food into her and that possibility lay in digging up enough cattail roots to fill their stomachs.

The wind gusted and howled, sending a further stab of cold through the woman's body. It was hard to tell but she was sure the temperature was dropping. Her bones ached, something she'd learned to interpret as "storm coming." Spock ridiculed her gently about it, but Christine had learned to listen to her body. She had developed a low level arthritis during the time they'd lived in this rigorous environment and, when the barometric pressure fell, it made her joints throb in response.

Her digging stick struck something fairly solid and she pulled it out, pleased to see residue from a root clinging to it. With renewed enthusiasm, she pummeled the hard ground with the point, and was finally rewarded as the tubers were uncovered. After half an hour more of digging and scraping, she had gathered enough of the roots to make a meal.

Struggling up to her feet, Christine faced into the wind and laboriously made her way back to their campsite, not far away in a sheltered place along the creek. Here a trickle of water still ran, not yet frozen, and their elk-hide tent was staked to block the wind. It had never been cured properly and stank, but it was all they had.

Spock and Sapel weren't back yet and Christine settled down to prepare the tubers. Unslinging T'Jenn from her body, she made the child as comfortable as she could and stoked the fire back up, throwing dried bison dung and dried cattails onto the embers. It blazed quickly, the smoke blowing away from her on the north wind. Christine carried the roots to the creek and washed them in the icy water, her hands nearly turning blue in the process, then hurried back to the warmth of the fire.

She dropped the tubers into the embers to roast, then bent over the blaze, holding her hands as close as she dared. Even with the flames licking at her flesh, it took a long time for circulation to return. She was cold to the marrow of her bones and seemed to have forgotten that she'd ever been warm.

The crunch of footsteps alerted her to Spock and Sapel's return and within a minute they came trudging down the slope. Spock carried a half dozen small animals by their hind legs. At first she thought they were baby hares then she saw the long, scaly tails.

"Diggers," he confirmed wearily. "It's all we could find." He threw them down in disgust and bent to catch up the water skin. Left near the fire, it had not frozen and he took a long swallow, some of the water escaping to trickle through his filthy black beard. When he'd drunk, he handed the skin to his son and Sapel gulped it thirstily. It was hard to see the boy's normal skin color underneath the dirt and his matted black hair fell over his eyes, tangled and knotted by the wind that whipped it from beneath his fur hood.

"I found cattail roots," Christine told them and indicated the cooking tubers. "It should be enough."

"Diggers!" Spock repeated in loathing but drew his knife and squatted to gut and clean the rodents. He could not afford to be picky. His family was starving and even this would keep them going another day. In the back of his mind, he remembered a thought he'd had not long after he and Christine had been stranded here and he was wrestling with the problem of their survival.

He had been self-righteously vowing to himself that he would never eat meat, that he'd starve first, that he would find enough vegetable matter to live on. After all, Vulcans were extremely resilient and could go for a long time on very little food.

 _That was only for a week_ , a little voice in the back of his head had chided him, referring to his _kahs'wan_. _What are you going to do when weeks become months? You haven't been truly hungry yet. So hungry that you would eat anything to survive._

Spock recognized the voice now as T'Oman, the Grandmother spirit who guided him. Well, he'd been humbled since then. Spock — proud Vulcan from the Clan of Surak, First Officer of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ , holder of four degrees from the Vulcan Science Academy and the Federation Institute of Advanced Technology, heir to the First Seat of the Vulcan Council, a prince of his world — was about to cook and eat a rat. Moreover, he would be feeding the same to his family and would thank his Ancestors for as long as the meat held out. There were still miles to go before they reached their destination.

* * *

Snow gusted up with a particularly fierce blast of wind and Christine turned away instinctively, sheltering the child in the body sling underneath her fur wrap. Ahead of her, she could see Spock doing the same thing, pulling Sapel into his shadow until the gust passed. Was the snow getting heavier or was the wind simply whipping the powder into a white-out storm. Either way, they couldn't go much further.

The wind abated a little and Christine turned back to her husband. "Spock!" she called over the howl of the blizzard. He angled toward her, the wind pummeling him as he did so.

"We've got to stop! We can't keep going!"

He held his place, steadying his son as Christine caught up with him. "We do not stop!" he shouted back. "Not this time!"

"We can't even see where we're going!" she argued.

"We will freeze to death if we stop! We push on!"

It was a command. He would brook no mutiny this time. Christine gave in. He was right. Stopping would be suicide. So would going on, but what choice did they have? Resolutely, they trudged forward, Sapel between them to keep from being lost.

They could see on no side of them, nor up nor down. The entire world had become a blinding blank of freezing whiteness. Only the sound and pressure varied with the rise and fall of the wind.

Sapel stumbled and went down, his feet and legs too numb to support him. Without speaking, Spock bent down and picked him up, cradling the boy close to him and plunging on through the snow. Christine struggled behind him with T'Jenn hugged against her own body warmth. Where the hunting cats were was anybody's guess. Likely they had found a hole to hide in until the storm passed.

Ahead of them, the whiteness began to gray. Christine ran a hand across her eyes and squinted again, trying to see. Yes, there was a definite line of dark something stretching as far as she could see on either side but her brain couldn't decipher what it was. She was too cold and the blowing snow distorted all perspective. Still, with every step the gray line grew larger and more defined.

"Spock! What is that?" she called.

He didn't answer, but shook his head, as puzzled as she, and continued to take step after determined step forward. As the gray line grew darker still and rose before them, he half-turned toward her. "I believe it is—"

With an abrupt cry of shock, the Vulcan disappeared from sight, as quickly as if the ground had opened up beneath him and swallowed him and Sapel in a single gulp.

"Spock!" Christine screamed and hurried forward. "Spock!!"

There was no answer. When she came to the place he'd been standing, she suddenly lurched back as she felt her foot start to go out from under her. She bent to look closer at the ground and now she saw it. A gully cut across their path and Spock had obviously stepped off into it, blinded by the snow.

"Spock?" she called again and this time she was rewarded by a low groan.

"Yes... I'm all right," his voice answered from somewhere below her. "Watch it — there is a drop off."

"I see it. Are you hurt?"

"Just bruised. But I think Sapel is hurt."

"I'm coming down."

Christine used her digging stick to steady herself and gingerly felt her way down to where her husband was bent over their son. The boy was lying on his back, groaning in pain. "Here, take T'Jenn," the woman directed and handed the little girl over to Spock. Then she bent to examine her son, her medical training taking over.

"Where are you hurt, Sapel?" she asked.

"My left arm. It hurts bad — ow!"

"I'll be gentle, baby," Christine assured him, but was running her practiced fingers over his arm. "Fractured, I think, but not broken clean through. We'll need to splint and bandage this."

She sat back and looked around them. Although snow still fell heavily, the wind was blocked here and the air was clearer.

Christine felt a smile pulling at her numbed face. The dark wall that had spread on either side before them was in actuality a long line of trees, bare and gray, and they were following the course of a small river. Christine could see it through the tree trunks, its surface white with ice and snow. The gully was a run-off trough that cut down from the plains ground level into the river's flood channel. The water itself was some fifty yards or so downslope.

"Darling," Christine said, looking at her husband, who was cradling their little daughter against his warmth. "I think we've found our River!"

* * *

The storm blew itself out after a day or so, leaving the world crystalline white underneath a nearly blinding blue sky. The air was cold and almost crackling with crispness, softening the landscape in long lavender shadows across the snow. Despite the frigid temperature, it was beautiful.

So too was the knowledge that they had finally stumbled, almost literally, upon the river that ran past their home valley. All they had to do was follow it until they reached the area they wanted. There was still a problem in crossing it, though, for they needed to be on the eastern side. It was too wide and deep here to attempt wading and the ice that covered its surface was not thick enough to risk a crossing. They would have to backtrack along its sinuous length until they found a place.

Meanwhile, things seemed almost relaxed after their ordeal across the plains. Game was more plentiful here along the river and the trees provided both firewood and provender. Many of the trees bore brown, meaty nuts in bunches on the tips of their spreading branches and this year there had been a bumper crop. Tree dwellers had harvested more than their share, but the limbs still rattled with the ripened remainder, their husks opened and ready for the nuts to fall. The ground underneath the trees was covered and the family spent many hours gathering baskets full.

They had set up a real camp here, sheltered from the wind by the trees and the river bank, and decided to stay for a couple of weeks in order to rest, regain their strength and allow Sapel's arm to heal more. Christine had braced it with lengths of strong saplings then wrapped it securely in a fresh pelt from an otter-like animal Spock had killed. The raw pelt would contract and dry, forming an adequate cast, this tied firmly with sinew.

There were fish to be caught in the river, along with other small aquatic animals and mussel-like bivalves that went into the stew pot. More cattail tubers thickened the broth and provided variety.

Scruffy and Ro turned up a day after the storm abated, their golden coats frosted with snow, but otherwise in good health. They settled in as well, happily hunting through the woods, as was their usual custom. Ro was nearly fully healed of her burns and was now the size of her mother. She was hunting on her own and Christine wondered how much longer Scruffy would tolerate her presence. When spring came, Scruffy would come into season and would drive her grown kitten away. Likely Ro would go into heat herself and leave to find her own mate. But for the time being, mother and daughter still were inseparable companions.

Now, after a filling supper, the children were bedded down underneath their furs on one side of the fire as Christine and Spock settled on the other. Sapel had complained about having T'Jenn sleep with him, but had finally accepted the situation as his adoring little sister nestled into his side and fell immediately into slumber. It wasn't long before he was snoring softly himself, glad of her added body warmth in the cold night.

Christine snuggled her back into Spock's front and sighed as he wrapped himself around her, pulling her close. "Mmm, that feels good," she whispered with a smile.

"Indeed," he answered back and nuzzled into her hair. They lay quietly for some time, slowly growing more aware of the other's thoughts and moods, savoring the companionable nearness in the dark, speaking subliminally, touch for their common speech. His arms around her was comforting and the strong masculinity of his aura surrounded her with a sense of well-being, warm and strong. Likewise, the sweet, honeyed feminine psyche that brushed his mind filled him with the taste of home, fertility, and hearth fires. It was said truly in Vulcan marriage oaths that the man was the protector and maker of the home, the woman its keeper and heart. Spock knew within the depth of his soul that, even here in the wilderness, Christine embodied all that he had ever wanted.

He gave a deep sigh of contentment and tightened his hold on the lush woman who lay in his arms. She snuggled deeper into his embrace and the banked fires deep within his belly began to grow in radiance. Beyond home and hearth, she was the mate of his soul and body, the sheath to his sword, the welcome tinder to his fire.

Spock moved his hand up and softly cupped her breast, caressing the rounded swell with a casualness that belied the evidence of his interest that was pressing into her bottom. Even through the leather of her tunic, he could feel her nipple come up hard to greet his touch.

With a throaty murmur of pleasure, Christine whispered, "Now that _really_ feels good." In answer, he tightened his hold just a bit, gently squeezing her breast and massaging the lush mound with more force. When she indicated her willingness with a low moan, he changed his position around her, slipping his hand up underneath the tunic and finding her warm flesh aroused against his palm.

For several minutes, he kneaded and stroked the full globe, feeling the nipple swell up through his fingers, echoing the throbbing protrusion snugged into her buttocks. Her own excitement growing, she squirmed into him, rubbing against the hardening probe, and he felt his erection pulse with electricity in response. The fire within him was now blazing up into a conflagration, their long abstinence fueling his need for her until he could not have extinguished it now even had he the will to do so.

Whispering, he drew suddenly away from her. "Get up. Don't wake the children."

Silently he rose from the bedding, pulling her up after him. For a second, she hesitated, then with the internal fire roaring through her own veins, she followed him just outside the circle of the firelight into the darkness, to the cut of the river bank beside which they camped. It rose about eight feet above the water level and marked where floods had eroded the soil. Here it was deep and silent and concealed, only the starlight offering a glimmer of illumination.

But they needed none. No sooner had they reached the seclusion of the cutbank than Spock pushed her back against it and claimed her mouth with his. She answered him eagerly, tongue pushing between his lips and dancing with his own. In the cold night air, their frantic breaths came in exhalations of steam, wreathing them as if it were the manifestation of the inferno raging within each of them.

His hands sought her breasts through the tunic and massaged them hard, then slipped down to pull her tunic up, exposing her loin cloth. For a moment, he fumbled, then his fingers found the leather strap and quickly worked it off her, exposing to his searching touch the moist, hot folds hidden there.

Her hands were not still by any means. She had reached down to grasp him through his own breechclout but, when she felt him removing hers, she hurriedly freed his engorged member to her seeking fingers, pushing the leather aside. The long, thick shaft filled her hand as she pumped him and she felt him groan into her mouth as they frantically kissed.

With his free hand, he found her thigh and brought her leg up to curve around his hip and she was guiding him in before the action was even finished. It was all the encouragement he needed. Still grasping her thigh to hold her steady, he probed blindly for a few seconds, then found his goal. With a determined shove, he rammed himself home, almost lifting her off her feet with the power of his entry. Her gasp was smothered as his mouth once more covered hers.

Then he lifted his head from hers and began pumping into her in earnest, unable to hold back the overwhelming need that drove him. Arms around his neck, she clung to him, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying aloud as he hammered into her.

For several long intense minutes, they were locked in their emphatic embrace, then Spock abruptly faltered in the rhythm of his thrusts. With an involuntary gasp, he stiffened and gave one last lunge into her depths, freezing as culmination seized him.

Christine froze as well, her breath held so long that she wondered if she remembered how to breathe, waiting in knife-edged anticipation. Then he was there, filling her with his heat and wet, poised in her as deep as he could go. She arched against him, lost in the mental and physical explosion of his climax. She soared up with him for an unimaginable time and gradually became aware that he had relaxed against her, still holding firm within her, his penis still pulsing as it shuddered to completion.

She became aware that she was shaking, whether from the cold or enervation following her orgasm she could not tell. He realized it at the same moment and released the leg he still held, allowing her stand on both feet once more. With a deep sigh, he withdrew from her and reached down to arrange his loincloth back over himself.

Christine remained standing for a long moment, allowing her heart and breathing to come back to normal, then squatted and felt around for her own loincloth, dropped at her feet. After she had fitted it back into place, Spock pulled her back into his arms and kissed her long and tenderly. When he drew back, he said, "It seems as if years have gone past since we last made love. Do you remember the night?"

"How could I forget?" she answered. "It was the night the volcano blew! Talk about making the earth shake!" She laughed softly.

"I feel the same way tonight." He kissed her once again, then said, "Why don't you go back to bed, _t'hy'la_? I need to walk a bit and center myself before I do so, or else I will think of nothing more than being within you for the rest of the night."

That brought a lascivious grin, her teeth showing in the darkness. "The 'rest of the night' is good," she answered suggestively.

He couldn't suppress a low chuckle. "In other circumstances, I would give you a night you would not forget ... but not here. When we return home, I plan to build a real house for us, with a place for the children and a place for us. Then there will be no need to steal away into the darkness in order to make love to you."

There was a soft whimper from the direction of the campfire and Christine turned her head to listen. "Just Jenny having a dream," she said after a second. "But you're right. I'm cold and tired. We both need rest. And I'm going to hold you to that all nighter," she smiled, reaching up to kiss him hard.

"I will not disappoint you," he promised. "Go to bed now, beloved. I will return shortly, then we will discuss our plans in the morning."

One more kiss and she went back to the fire, slipping between the bed furs. Spock watched her go and then looked up at the spread of stars scattered across the night sky. "When we return home..." he whispered to himself. "When we return home..."

* * *

It had rained lightly that morning but the clouds were burning off and the sun beginning to shine through as Spock pushed the dripping bushes aside and looked out onto a sight he'd searched for over the past five days.

"Christine!" he called, a smile of relief pulling at his mouth. "We're here!"

Behind him Christine and Sapel crowded forward. "Thank God," she said.

They had found the ford, the place where they always crossed the river to and from their homesite on the eastern side. The river did not flow so deep here, being above the point where the smaller stream they called the Creek flowed into it. Here sand bars had built stepping stone islands that allowed them to cross without wading through treacherous currents.

"We'll be there in only a couple more hours," Spock responded.

"Then let's get moving!"

The knowledge that they were so close to reaching their goal spurred them on. It took them about half an hour to make their way to the eastern bank and up it to more level ground. From here, the going was easy. By mid-afternoon their surroundings had taken on a decided familiarity, although the passage of two years had changed things subtly. But then the view opened to one of sweet recognition and they stopped to drink in the sight of their home.

The family stood on the northern bank overlooking the little valley where they had lived for most of the nine years they'd been marooned here. To their right, the waterfall dribbled over the embankment and into the pond at its base, both still ice-encrusted and only just beginning to feel the lifting temperatures of dawning spring. Later, as snowmelt poured into the channels, the turbid brown water would gush over the rim and turn the pond and creek into a swollen torrent for days on end. Now, however, the creek was a mere trickle between its frozen banks.

Directly across from them, the family could see their homesite and the mouth of their dwelling cave. Spock surveyed it with particular attention, for in their two year absence, it was almost certain that another resident had claimed it. The question was — what? It could be anything from the long-legged hares of the plains to a ferocious werewolf, the vicious carnivores that inhabited the woods to the east. There was the detritus of cracked bones and bits of fur showing through the snow around its entrance but no footprints. Was the animal gone? Dead? What?

Spock doffed his pack and caught up his heavy hunting spear. "Stay with the children," he directed Christine and started down the slope to the creek bank. They had long ago laid stepping stones across it which made the traverse from one bank to the other easy in all but high water conditions. Now Spock made his way gingerly across these, mindful of their icy coating, and stepped without incident onto the far shore.

There he paused for a long time, using all his senses to probe the situation. The whole area had a rank smell about it — one of decay and old death, of scat and animal odor. Yet the area seemed deserted as well, as if nothing had been here for a long time. Still, Spock's instincts were on high alert. There was danger here, lurking unseen, ready to pounce.

With great care, spear at the ready, he crept toward the cave entrance, frequently pausing to reassess things. At the cave's mouth, he stopped once more. The animal stench was nearly overpowering and from within the darkness he could hear both a deep purring sound and the higher pitched squeak of young. Something was definitely denning here.

Looking around, Spock located a good sized rock and hefted it in his right hand, his spear clutched in his left. Backing off slightly, he drew back and, with a screech meant to startle the cave's occupants, lobbed the rock with all his might into the cave's entrance.

There was an instant roar of outrage and surprise from the depths and something man-sized and furry exploded out of the opening, all teeth and blood-red eyes.

Spock was ready and met the charge head-on. The heavy spear buried itself halfway into the chest of the animal and Spock leaped away, drawing his knife in the same instant, prepared for the next attack. But the spear had punctured heart and lungs, and the creature was writhing in a flying froth of blood, snapping at the spear embedded in its chest. With a final howling cry, it shuddered and lay still.

Spock still did not relax, for the creature might have a mate lurking in the cave. But there was no sound save the alarmed squeaks issuing from the back. Cautiously the Vulcan ventured inside and was gone for several minutes. After a short time, he re-emerged, carrying the limp bodies of two tiny cubs by the scruff of their necks. These he tossed next to the carcass of their mother, then turned and went back across the creek to where his own family waited.

"What _are_ those things?" Christine asked, frowning in consternation as they finally all approached the cave and the bodies. "I've never seen anything like these before!"

"I don't know," Spock answered. "It appears to be almost a missing link between bears and dogs." He prodded the biggest carcass with the toe of his moccasin. "The body is quite bear-like, but the face and tail are more like a wolf."

"Why'd you kill the babies, Papa?" Sapel asked, bending over to examine the little bodies.

"They could not survive without their mother and these are animals that we definitely could not raise!" Spock told him. "It was necessary, Sapel."

The boy straightened and nodded. Christine was peering into the cave and wrinkled her nose. "Phfew! We can't move in until we clean this place up!"

"Indeed. I suggest we camp down closer to the pond until we make the cave habitable again."

His wife nodded. "We'll have to keep an eye on T'Jenn, but that sounds good to me." She patted the little girl snuggled against her front in her carry sling, then looked up at her husband and smiled. "Gee, it's good to be home," she sighed.

* * *

Spring seemed to have coincided with their arrival, for the weather warmed and turned sunny for the next two weeks. With the energy borne of new hope and homecoming, they set to work the next morning cleaning and reestablishing their homesite. The bear-dogs were skinned and the hides rolled and packed in snow until they could be tanned properly. Spock and Sapel dragged the carcasses out away from the camp so that scavengers could dispose of the remains.

The yard facing the cave entrance was swept clean and then Christine tackled the cave itself. They had left a lot of pots, bowls and other tools they could not pack. Now Christine gathered these up and scrubbed them clean, using the biggest pots to heat water for washing and cleaning.

Within a week the cave was fit to live in once again. Spock rebuilt the door guard and he and Sapel spent an entire day cutting and hauling firewood from the woods to the northeast of them. The real forest was a few miles away to the east, but the trees that followed the creek across the prairie offered enough timber to supply their needs. They also used what was left of the brush pile on the other side of the creek, the remains of a long ago storm.

On the day they moved back into their cave home, they started anew by declaring it "Bath Day". It was an all-day procedure. Other than the haphazard washes here and there, none of them had had a proper bath since the day the volcano had erupted and driven them from Eden. Christine had surveyed her husband and children and clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

"We look like a bunch of Neanderthals!" she declared. "And we all smell like gorillas!"

"What's a Nander ... nan ... er..." Sapel asked.

"Nanner!" echoed T'Jenn.

Spock lifted an eyebrow at her and scratched at his unkempt black beard. "I doubt whether the Neanderthals or gorillas would appreciate such a comparison," he answered wryly.

"What's a grilla?"

"Riller!"

"Quiet, you two," Christine replied. "Spock, you get a good fire going. Sapel, you start hauling water. This family is going to take a bath!"

"Whether they need it or not," Spock interjected with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

T'Jenn, being junior in the line-up and also the one with the least patience, was the first to be dunked. The two-year-old did not like it one bit and it took Spock holding her while Christine washed, rubbed and rinsed her squirming and screaming daughter. Afterwards, though, she looked like a Human child once again, pink of skin and with her matted brown locks shorn close. There was no way to comb the tangles free and she had also acquired passengers in her travels. Christine grimaced as she threw the piles of hair into the fire.

The day before she had washed and laid to dry their spare clothing and bedding, and now she wrapped T'Jenn in these and put her down to nap.

While Christine was seeing to the toddler, Sapel took his turn, aided by Spock who scrubbed places he couldn't reach and cut the boy's long black tangles, ridding him as well of the lice-like parasites he bore. The boy didn't fuss the way his sister had. After all, he was nearly eight now, in Terra Two years, but ten on Earth or Vulcan. He was not embarrassed to be nude in front of his father, for their way of living did not allow a great deal of privacy or false modesty. Neither did Spock feel it a thing of shame as his young son dried off and donned a clean loin cloth and garments. He did note silently that Sapel was beginning to develop a bit. His penis was bigger and there was a dusting of pubic hair on his groin. It would be time soon for the _ack'n'vohl_ ceremony that would prepare the boy for manhood. If he followed Vulcan norm, Sapel would likely begin his Awakening — his sexual puberty — within a year or two. He should be prepared when it occurred.

"What's the matter, Papa?" Sapel asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Hmm? Nothing, _cha'i_. Go and get something to eat."

It was late afternoon by now and the sun was sinking into the west as Spock refilled the pot with clean water and began his own ablutions. Christine came to help him and together they scrubbed him down until his skin glowed green all over. She cut his hair short and he shaved his beard. As he redressed, Christine looked him over with a smile.

"You look like you did on the _Enterprise_ ," she commented.

"Then let us see if we can return your appearance to those days," he answered with a soft smile.

For a moment they gazed at each other with a wistfulness that spoke of the memories both were experiencing. Then Spock said, "I'll fetch fresh water for you."

Christine's only regret later was that the pot of bath water wasn't large enough to stretch out in and soak. But it was worth that sacrifice to feel Spock's big, powerful hands working their magic over her entire body.

"If the kids weren't here, I'd jump your bones," she whispered to him.

"Indeed?" he murmured back. "I believe we can find the time and opportunity now to do that more often." She laughed in her deep, throaty chuckle. "Do you wish your hair cut as well?"

"Lord, yes! It's itching me to death!"

Spock complied, gently shearing his wife's waist-length braids until she sported a short cap of dark brown locks. After it was all done, Christine washed her scalp vigorously and then fluffed her curls with her fingers as she stood near the heat of the fire, dressed in clean clothing.

"I feel Human again!" she proclaimed, shaking her head and loving the feel of her newly lightened hair.

"You are beautiful," Spock answered and pulled her into his arms for a kiss. His embrace and kiss tightened for a moment then they were interrupted by giggles.

Sapel and T'Jenn were watching them. "Mama! Papa! You look funny!" the boy declared and the two children went into peals of laughter.

"No more than you two!" their mother responded and pounced at them. There ensued a brief but raucous tickling match, which Spock watched with martyred patience. When it was all over, he sighed and pronounced the melee "totally illogical."

He was the next target.

* * *

Winter gave them one last punch with a late season ice storm, but the cold weather didn't last more than a few days before the wind turned around to the south and the snow melted away, leaving puddles and mud in its wake. As if the warm southern wind had breathed spring over the land, the world began to turn green almost overnight.

New grass pushed up through the dead thatch of the previous year, leaf buds appeared on trees, and the earliest of early bloomers exploded into color.

Game was still scarce, the herds not having migrated north yet, but Spock managed to bag an old bull elk that had wandered to the edge of the woods looking for food. The venison was lean and tough, but they cut and dried it into jerky anyway.

Grated and boiled with grain they'd managed to collect from last year's crop, it made a suitable porridge. There would be new meat coming into the area soon enough.

Christine salvaged the pelt and soon had it and those of the bear-dogs tacked up and curing, well on their way to tanning. She preserved the fur on the bear-dog pelts, but soaked and scraped the elk hide clean, processing it into buckskin leather. She would be making a lot of clothing this year. They had lost nearly everything in the flight from Eden.

Fortunately, their caches in and near the cave had mostly survived their two year absence. Grain had been for the most part eaten by rodents, but enough came through unscathed to be useful for basic foods such as gruel and bread flour. Most of the tubers and fruits were ruined and those were disposed of. The salt barrels stood untouched and there was still fish and some meat packed far down that had defied any attempts by marauders to get at them. In any case, the brine cured meat was too intensely salty to eat unless soaked and drained for several days.

When the ground had dried so that travel was feasible, Spock and Sapel made the trip to the salt licks several miles away and brought back heaping packs of the essential mineral. Gradually, as spring progressed, their lives began to settle back into the routine of years past.

The spring weather brought a change in Scruffy's behavior as well. She became increasingly short-tempered with her now grown daughter, Ro, hissing and spitting at her whenever the young cat came too close. This obviously puzzled and upset Ro a good deal, making her seek her mother's company all the more. It culminated one morning in a brief but spectacular cat fight which ended with Scruffy chasing the frightened Ro at full speed up the bluff and away toward the woods. It was the last they ever saw of Ro in camp, now exiled as her mother prepared for this year's litter of kittens.

The hunting cat vanished for nearly a week, presumably searching for a mate. It must have taken a while, for this valley was on the extreme northern range of hunting cat territory. But the power of pheromones and mating drives were not to be underestimated, for eventually Scruffy returned, serene, purring and obviously pleased with herself. Christine did a quick count on her fingers and estimated kittens due about the first of April, some 65 days away.

They would spy Ro now and again hunting through the tall grass as the year progressed and were not surprised later that summer to see two tawny kittens at her side. Likely their father was the same male who sired Scruffy's brood. There weren't all that many hunting cats in this area.

Spring on the plains that year exploded with new life everywhere. The herds of bison, antelope and horses returned in strength, all dropping calves and foals as the abundant grass provided the best forage of the year. There were plenty of the usual predators following the herds, but food was abundant all around and there hardly seemed a dent made in the vast herds of grazers that spread across the prairies.

Along the creek and river, the stands of cattails and reeds hosted water fowl and other birds, now nesting and laying eggs, which the family regularly collected, along with clams and water creatures and fish. The young sprouts of the plants themselves provided succulent greens and vegetable fare. And on the day Christine and the children discovered a patch of wild berries turning red-black with ripeness in their first yield of the year, they came home with lips and fingers stained and still enough picked to enjoy that evening.

They found Spock back from his hunt, dressing out a small ruminant they called a bush pig. It wasn't a pig, of course, but resembled one, weighing in at about 30 pounds or so. Spock already had the fire pit going and would cook the pig whole in it once the coals had burned down to red hot embers. He would cover it with the excavated dirt, let it slow cook overnight, and it would be succulent and tender by the next day.

Christine stood watching him for a long moment, then announced, "I just had a great idea! Spock, I am declaring tomorrow a holiday. We are going to celebrate the First Annual Terra Two Spring Fest and Thanksgiving Picnic!"

* * *

Spock drew his long legs up and rested his forearms across his knees, watching his children run through the grass, chasing flutter-bys among the wildflowers. "That was an excellent meal," he said to his wife, who was stretched out beside him in the shade of the big tree towering above them. "I feel quite decadent for having eaten so much."

Christine made a lazy sound deep in her throat but did not open her eyes. Her husband cocked an appraising eyebrow and continued, "What do you plan for the dessert course?"

Christine stretched her arms up high, then tucked her hands behind her head. "Oh ... Baked Alaska ... laming Cherries Jubilee ... Souffle of Vegan _corre'lander_ fruit topped with fresh _nagesh_ cream..."

"No handmade _k'orto'k'rax_?" Spock teased, his dark eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Oh, of course! I've been kneading and stringing _k'orto_ dough for days!"

"Then it should be spectacular indeed."

They fell silent for a few minutes then T'Jenn ran up clutching a handful of white flowers. "Look for you!" she declared and threw them open-handed onto her mother's supine form.

"Oh, thank you, Jenny!" Christine answered, gathering the 2-year-old's gift. "Mmm ... they smell so good!"

The little girl giggled happily and ran off again to join her brother in a game of tag. Christine sat up and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. "I should've done some Easter eggs for the kids to hunt."

"It is not Easter," Spock replied. "That would be counted as the first full moon — or in our case, moons — following the vernal equinox."

"Oh, hush!"

"In any case, we have never, positively, calculated that date—"

"Hush, I said! It's the spirit that counts. Easter is as much a spring celebration as anything."

"Not counting the religious aspect." Christine gave a little grunt of assent and Spock continued the conversation. "You told me once that your mother was quite religious. Did you observe Easter then?"

"Oh, yes." Christine paused and an impish grin split her face. "Religiously, you might say!" She laughed at her own joke.

"We were there in our best clothes, following all the traditions." As her memories flooded back, her eyes clouded over and her voice softened. "My sisters and I always got brand new dresses for Easter service. Then afterwards, we'd have a special big dinner at my grandparents' house and later we'd all hunt Easter eggs on the lawn. My sister Jessalyn lives on the old homestead now."

Tears suddenly slid down her cheeks. Christine hurriedly dashed them away. "I'm sorry. I just miss them all so much sometimes. I don't know who's dead or alive, who's gotten married or had babies... if we'll ever see them again..."

Spock shifted his position and slid his arm around his wife's shoulder. "It is only natural that you miss your family, _t'hy'la_. Do not be ashamed of your grief for them."

"It's not very Vulcan, is it?"

"You are not Vulcan," he pointed out. "And even if you were, it would still be a logical reaction. I too miss my family and friends."

Christine sighed and wiped her face, then smiled up at him, her blue eyes still bright with moisture. "Do you think we'll ever be found, Spock?"

"Ever? That is a very long time and the odds are that we will be eventually, but by whom I cannot predict. I believe us to be deep within Romulan space, thus they are the logical candidates. But I truly cannot foresee the future, so I cannot say."

She nodded contritely. "I just still hold out a fragment of hope that one day we'll look up and see Jim and Leonard and Scotty coming across the meadow and taking us home again."

Spock peered at her gently. "Not a particularly realistic hope. If they have not found us by now, it is unlikely they ever will. I am certain we have been declared dead and our files closed."

That threatened to bring on a new bout of tears, so he changed the subject. "I have been considering our living situation here. The cave is rather crowded with four of us now, plus storage. I have been thinking about building us a house here."

"Where?" she asked. "And out of what? The forest is too far away to cut timber and there aren't enough stones for a cabin like that."

"I have not come to a definite plan yet. Perhaps a sod dwelling would work. Or perhaps we could build on to the cave as an extension."

"That might work," Christine agreed. "There's enough room in front of the cave to build an addition. I think we could come up with enough material around here."

"I shall put that high on my list of activities for this summer."

"It's going to be a busy summer," Christine answered, snuggling against his shoulder. "For both of us."

* * *

Hefting the maul over his shoulder, Spock slammed it down onto the pike wedged into the long tree trunk stretched before him. The timber popped and split farther, but did not separate. Once more Spock drew the maul up and sent it crashing down onto the wedge. This time the tree trunk gave a rending crack and fell into two clean pieces, opened lengthwise along its span.

Spock paused and wiped sweat off his face, then set the maul down and bent to prop one half of the tree into position so that he could drive the wedges into its length to split a plank from it. He had been at this job for over two weeks now, first selecting trees in the woods that were tall and straight enough to serve his purpose, then hacking them down with his stone axe and finally dragging them closer to the homesite. For the past four days he had labored at splitting them into crude lumber and stacking those into a pile to dry and cure.

He had spent the rainy weeks of the spring planning out how he would construct the addition to their home. After studying the layout of the valley, he decided that a partially dugout dwelling, faced and roofed with sod, was the best choice. The timber he was splitting would serve as the framework. While it was curing in the summer heat, their next task would be to excavate back into the hillside next to the cave opening. They wouldn't be able to go far because of the limestone escarpment which made up the bedrock in this area and from which the cave had eroded. But with luck and hard work, they would be able to chop their way several feet back into the cliffside, making a second room next to the cave. From there they could break through into the cave proper and make a doorway to the new room.

Sod "bricks" cut from the prairie would form the front walls of the new room, with a door and window set into it, and once the roof was built and roughly shingled, then more sod would be laid over that, forming an insulating covering. It would be cool in summer and warm in winter, imperious to prairie fire, and expandable as they needed in the future. Granted, it was far from luxurious, but it would be functional and practical. This winter, Spock decided, he'd work on furniture as he had at Sea Home.

As he bent to hammer the wedges into the half-log, Christine's voice interrupted him. "I hear Abe Lincoln got his start splitting rails," she said.

He straightened, his bare torso gleaming with sweat from his exertion, wood chips clinging to his biceps and the dark hair on his chest. With his black hair growing long again and a leather sweatband tied around his forehead, he was magnificently male and she couldn't help but let her eyes sweep over his lean, bronzed figure, from mahogany eyes beneath upswept brows, down over his muscular shoulders and arms, to his flat stomach and long, buckskin-clad legs and moccasins.

He noted her appraisal of him but also noted that she came bearing a carved wooden cup in her hand. "So they say," he replied, his breath still coming a bit fast from the physical toil he'd been doing. "However, I believe it is a dubious way to achieve fame."

"I brought you some water," she said.

"Thank you." He took the proffered cup and up-ended it, his throat working as he downed the cool, welcome drink.

When he'd finished, Christine asked, "How's it coming?"

Spock wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and handed the cup back to his wife. "I am almost finished splitting the lumber. One more log after this one should be enough for the framing. When this is done, we'll start excavating the dugout. I estimate that by late summer we may be able to begin cutting and laying sod."

"God willin' and the creek don't rise, as my granny would say." Christine put her fists on her hips and shook her head. "I feel like I ought to be wearing a long skirt and a sun bonnet! Little house on the prairie!"

"But it should prove adequate shelter. Jim told me once that, when his ancestors first migrated west to Iowa, they built a sod house and lived there for over ten years before they were able to afford lumber to build a wooden cabin. He had ancient 2-D photographs that had been passed down through his family for generations. I would not have believed it possible for people to live in such dwellings."

"Oh, it's amazing the number of ways people have come up with to provide shelter for themselves! I just hope we're able to get this thing built in a reasonable timeframe."

"With diligence and good weather, it will be ready for habitation before winter sets in," he answered confidently.

"It's already summer," Christine pointed out. "And you still have to hunt for us and the kids and I still have to gather and store food, not to mention the time I spend tanning leather and making clothes. That dugout is going to take a lot of work and it'll be autumn before we know it."

Spock's brows were creeping up toward his sweatband and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I did not realize that time is passing so quickly or that this project would take so much work. I shall abandon it immediately, as is your obvious wish!"

She punched him in the shoulder. "Don't be a smartass. I was just making an observation about the time involved."

"I am quite aware of the time and the season of the year," he responded, still looking down at her in a slightly imperious manner. "And it is passing swiftly as we stand here talking."

"Then I'll leave!" She turned and walked away, then looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes twinkling, knowing the "argument" had not been a serious one. "Don't work too late," she told him. "Supper should be ready about sundown."

"I am almost done here," he responded with a smile. "Later ... after the children are asleep ... would you be agreeable to a swim?"

Her lips pulled into a wide, lascivious smile. "Last one in has to scrub the other's back!"

* * *

Spock surfaced and flung wet hair out of his face. The water had seemed a bit cool at first but now was comfortably tepid against his bare skin, retaining the day's warmth. Behind him, Christine popped to the surface and pounced on him, dunking him back under almost before he could catch a quick breath. His response was immediate, though, yanking her down with him. She floundered frantically and they both came up together, face to face this time, laughing, even the stoic Vulcan caught in the joy of the moment. For several seconds, they both gasped for air then Christine laughed again and moved into his arms. As their lips came together, she could feel the contours of his body sink against those of her own, his firm pectorals pressing into her breasts, stomachs molding together, groins seeking the other's form. She wrapped her legs around his hips and allowed his erection to slip into the valley of her womanhood. There was no penetration yet, just teasing contact and closeness.

Tongues dancing together, the two spent some time exploring each other's mouths and lips, then the kisses moved on to faces, jawlines, throats and ears. Christine could feel herself throbbing hungrily against the hardening shaft between her legs but it wasn't time yet. There was unspoken agreement that tonight would be slow and lingering, a celebration of their love and an end to the long weeks of denial they had been forced to endure over the winter. They had made love, of course, but this was the first time this year that they'd had the luxury of a long midnight swim together.

Christine became aware that Spock was steering them toward the big flat rocks on the edge of the pool and knew instinctively what he had in mind. Sure enough, when they reached the platform, he hefted her up onto it and came up to rest beside her. The night air was sultry against their naked skin, the stars brilliant overhead. The three moons had already set, but the pale arc of the galactic arm that stretched across the sky provided a faint, lambent illumination, all they needed.

Pushing her gently flat onto the boulder, Spock bent over her, beginning at her collarbone to kiss and lick the moisture from her skin. His lips worked their way down her chest to the valley between the soft globes of her breasts. There he spent a very long time, running his tongue up and over her flesh, tracing the tip around her hard, upright nipples, pulling them gently between his teeth, taking them whole into his mouth and sucking hard until she moaned and rose beneath him. As she did so, he slipped one hand between her legs and ever-so-gently stroked her swollen sex, barely touching her, just enough to drive her to the very edge of climax.

Then he backed off, leaving her writhing and wanting more. Shifting up onto his hands and knees, he let his lips trail down her soft, quivering stomach, pivoting his body as he did so until he was head down toward her feet and his hips were alongside her shoulders. His mouth continued to work its way down her abdomen until at last he reached the dense triangle of dark hair at its base and the soft folds hidden below.

Christine groaned and allowed her legs to fall apart, giving him ready entrance and at the same time reached up to grasp the long thick rod that jutted from his groin. He obliged her by swinging his leg across her, straddling her, giving her full access to the tantalizing evidence of his masculinity. Meanwhile, he bent to her own treasures, inhaling her rich odor, gently spreading her with his thumbs, drawing the tip of his tongue down across the sensitive nub and into the nectar coating her secret opening.

For just an instant, a hint of a different flavor rested on his tongue but was so fleeting he couldn't be sure it was truly there. Still, he lifted his head from her.

"Christine, where are you in your cycle?"

She was occupied with her own oral explorations and answered distractedly. "Nowhere. I don't have one anymore."

"Are you certain?"

"Hmmm... positive. I haven't had a period in six or seven months. Why?" She nuzzled into the olive green sac hanging above her and diddled it playfully with her tongue, swirling the tip along the contours within.

"I thought I detected a change in your odor."

"Forget it. My body's shut down the baby factory." She kissed each globe tenderly and sucked gently at them. "Get back to what you were doing."

His arousal growing stronger with each movement of his wife's lips and tongue, Spock gave in. The faint aroma was gone and only her delicious musk filled his nostrils. Putting his concern aside, he bent back to her widespread thighs and covered her with his mouth, his tongue delving vigorously into her valley, up and down, as he drank her wine, and finally plunging his tongue like a miniature penis as deeply as he could into her very heart, working into her, out and in once more, again and again.

Gasping, she seized the shaft of his rearing manhood and dragged it to her lips, engulfing the sensitive head and taking as much of him as she could, pressing him to the roof of her mouth and sucking with eagerness. Spock jerked her head up and went rigid, a long groan escaping his throat. In her mind, she suddenly received the plea to release him. Puzzled, she did so, then was further startled as he rolled them both over so that he was beneath and she on top.

Delighted, she dived back to her attack, licking and lightly nipping along his length, kissing and teasing, feeling him harden to steel beneath her ministrations. Beads of opal moisture had gathered like pearls along the tip and she ran her tongue full over the head, taking them away with one swipe, then engulfed him again, devouring the great mushroom crown as deeply as she could.

Spock uttered a sonorous moan and she heard his strained voice resonate through her mind. O _h, khrasau' palikau!_ Before she had time to do more than understand his words on a subliminal level — "I'm coming!" — her throat was flooded with the strong, coppery jet of his orgasm. She tried to swallow, but gagged and had to turn her face away, allowing the remainder to spurt onto her throat and chest. She bent back to catch the last then gently licked him clean as he lay panting beneath her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I lost control..."

"Hush," she answered. "I've told you before, when I give you a blow job, I expect results!"

"But I have dirtied you—"

"It'll wash off! Stop being silly!" She bent and kissed his softening member. "Nothing we do together dirties me. Your pleasure is mine, husband." He didn't answer but she could feel the warmth of his affection flow through their bond. "Let's take another dip and see what we can come up with." With a wink, she moved off him and slipped back into the dark waters of the pond. When he recovered from his surprise and followed her, she was already nearly to the waterfall, her pale form cutting like a half-mythical water creature through the inky, star-frosted surface.

He struck out after her and caught her at the cascade.

* * *

Rock shattered and chips flew as another chunk of limestone succumbed to the powerful blow of Spock's wooden maul onto antler tine wedges. They had worked to excavate the overlying soil of the dugout but once the white chalk of the bedrock was reached, they could only pound away with antler picks and brute force.

It made little difference. The rock as damnably hard. After two weeks' work, Spock sat back and pondered the problem. Inspiration dawned when little T'Jenn, hammering at a rock stuck in a crack, caused the split to widen and a fist-sized clump to break away. As if the proverbial lightbulb had popped on over his head, Spock retrieved the wedges and maul he'd been using to split logs into lumber and turned the same technology to quarrying. It was a millennia‑old technique and he chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"You know, you can't think of everything," Christine chided him.

The days fell into a sort of pattern as the hot summer progressed. About every four or five days, Spock and Sapel would hunt. With the plains teeming with game, it was an easy business to bag a fat antelope or horse or bush pig. It would be butchered where it fell, the pelt stripped and laid out to catch the chunks of meat that were cut away, and any other odds and ends of use.

Scruffy and her three new cubs, dubbed Tic, Tac and Toe by Christine, much to Spock's amusement, were always quick to pounce on the carcass and feed while the presence of the two Vulcans kept away larger predators. As soon as the carcass was abandoned, it was claimed by the waiting spectators — canids and carrion birds — all eager for a free meal.

Christine and Jenny spent their days gathering ripening fruits and vegetables and other plant foods. Jenny wasn't old enough to help much, but Christine thoroughly enjoyed the presence of her little daughter. The two-year-old was beginning to talk, although it was still mostly gibberish, and the child's fair hair and twinkling blue eyes seemed tailor-made for the summer season.

Christine let the girl run naked much of the time and to see her plump little form romping through the flower-strewn grass reminded Christine of a fairy child, an impression enhanced by the slightly pointed tips of her ears. Often Christine would weave together a circlet of wild flowers to adorn T'Jenn's head, which sent the toddler into paroxysms of glee.

On the days following "food days", Spock and Christine devoted time to domestic matters — cutting and hanging meat to dry, salting other portions in the brine barrels, working on leather, sewing clothes, repairing or making weapons and tools, or other things necessary for survival.

But always, at least one day a week or whenever other chores weren't demanding their time, they all tackled the project of excavating their new dwelling. It went faster after Spock began breaking the rock up with the sledge. Now he shattered rock while Christine and Sapel loaded the detritus onto a bull hide and dragged it away to dump it near the place where the valley opened out onto the plains. All three kept an eye on Jenny, but otherwise she was allowed to play with the kittens underneath the big shade tree nearby. The tree was the offspring of the one the tornado had blown down. Shoots had quickly sprouted from the stump and grown into a vigorous replica of its parent tree, not nearly so big yet, but on its way.

By the time the leaves on that tree began to show a hint of yellow around their edges, the dugout was nearly finished and they were smoothing down the back walls preparatory to construction on the roof and front wall frame. All in all, Spock was very pleased with its progress.

That was about the time it began to rain.

* * *

It had rained steadily for three days, forcing the family to remain in the cave. The children had done school work (at least in Sapel's case) and played with the few homemade toys they had. Sapel had also worked on weapons and tools with his father while T'Jenn napped and Christine sewed near the light of the cave opening. She was just finishing up a pair of boots for T'Jenn made from the pelts of the bear-dog cubs. The mother's hide had already been transformed into a warm cape for Sapel. Christine had been working hard all summer on winter clothing for the four of them.

Darkness came early and on this third day of rain, the children had been restless and bored. It had taken a very long story session at bedtime before they had finally settled down to sleep.

Christine was already wrapped in the sleeping furs when Spock returned from a trip to their indoor latrine, a small offshoot cavern with a long crack in the floor that opened to a lower cave room. That one had a little stream running through it and served perfectly as a toilet when they needed it. The usual one, however, was downstream on the creek, where the rushing water served to carry waste away. But, in bad weather, the indoor "privy" was a necessity.

It was late as he checked to make sure the children were fast asleep. The four hunting cats, Scruffy and her three half-grown cubs, were warm and dry, curled up on the furs at the back of the cave where Sapel and T'Jenn slept. Scruffy blinked up lazily at the tall man, her eyes glowing green in the muted firelight, her throat vibrating softly with a low purr. Yawning, her ivory fangs bared and her tongue curling at the tip, the mother cat tucked her paws in and closed her eyes, supremely comfortable and contented.

Satisfied that all was well, Spock paused by his own bed and let his loin cloth drop to the ground, then slid into the furs beside his wife. She was deliciously warm compared to the damp chill that crept around the door guard and he pulled her into his arms, nuzzling into her neck, kissing her nape beneath her shoulder-length brown hair.

"I thought you were tired," she murmured with a smile and turned over onto her back, bringing her face up to his.

"You revitalize me," he whispered and caught her mouth in a long, searching kiss. Wriggling still farther to face him, Christine slipped an arm around his back, her fingers exploring the smooth contours of solid muscle and naked skin. Her hand trailed down the line of his vertebrae, to the small of his back and up again until finally reaching the hard sinews of his shoulders.

There she slipped her fingers up the cords of his neck and into the thick dark expanse of his hair, now grown back to a glorious mane of raven black. Within she found his ear and sensuously stroked down from the tip to the lobe, accentuating her actions by plying her tongue along his upper lip and into his mouth.

She could feel the surge of fire that went through him and, his lips and tongue still devouring hers, he brought his right hand up to her face and centered his fingertips unerringly onto her meld points. Christine gasped against his mouth as his mind slipped effortlessly into hers and she opened her psyche full to him. Thunder grumbled in accompaniment to their meld, causing her to laugh softly, mentally.

_Do you remember, Spock? It was storming the first time we made love._

_Of course, I remember_. He projected the image he had seen of her — her wet buckskin dress pooled around her feet, her long sun-streaked hair cascading down her naked back as she shook it free, the luscious curve of her buttocks and the graceful sweep of her long legs as she stood in the firelight, her back to him.

Now, as then, his body responded to her utter femininity, his manhood stretching and hardening in attentiveness. This time she could feel it pushing against her lower abdomen. Before, she had turned to see him approaching her with hunger and longing in his eyes, naked from the waist up, rain trickling from his long jet hair down over his arms and sculpted chest. His loincloth had not hidden the impressive erection that jutted before him, evidence of his desire for her, and it had caused an answering jolt to surge through her own body.

Their minds entwined, the two relived the glorious moment of their first joining, as together they stripped him free of his soaked clothing and he took her down onto the blanket that had heretofore been hers alone. There he claimed her as his own and she had tasted for the first time a Vulcan's hidden passion and the ecstasy of his fire exploding through her veins.

Christine smiled and moaned a little as she replayed the memory through her mind. _I see you remember it, too, my beloved_ , his thoughts said within hers.

 _And it's only gotten better since then_ , she answered, looking up into his dark, hypnotic eyes. _Maybe we should go out and play in the rain_ , she suggested with a wicked smile _. I really like it when you're wet._

An eyebrow went up. _The temperature is quite cool outside. I think I prefer a nice warm dry bed tonight._

 _You're no fun_ , she pouted, but her blue eyes twinkled. _Well, it won't be too dry. I think we can generate a little moisture, don't you?_

 _Indeed_ , he agreed. He took his hand away from her face and slid it beneath her soft leather nightdress. It was her only clothing, in keeping with her habit of not wearing a loin cloth to bed unless it was her time of the month, and that was now long past. The very fact of her near nakedness never failed to excite him and this time was no exception. His fingers found her soft, fur-covered mound and the velvety lips beneath and he stroked her gently, encouraging her to produce the silky oil of building arousal. She did not disappoint and, after a few seconds, her nether lips parted to allow his fingertips to sink into the wonderful moisture that fountained from her wellspring. Eagerly but gently, he spread it over the cleft of her sex, between the alluring folds and finally to swirl it around and over the rearing nub that swelled to his beguiling touch.

Christine groaned and moved in counterpoint to his rhythmic stroking. Abruptly, she reached down with both hands and stripped off her bed dress, falling back naked and open and writhing beneath his ministrations. Her breasts heaved up in invitation, firm and rosy in the firelight, tipped with taunt peaks of hungry flesh. He bent and seized one in his mouth, sucking at it vigorously and working it with his tongue.

Against her thigh, she could feel his rigid tool stabbing into her hip and she grasped it firmly, her fist closing about the shaft and pumping up and down in the same tempo he was playing on her. The pulse of his arousal reverberated throughout her soul and simultaneously she felt him swell harder and droplets of his imminent climax seep out to ease the way of his entry. She took his dew onto her fingertips and smeared it over the sensitive head of his penis, gasping aloud as she felt through the bond what her touch was doing to him.

In answer his fingers suddenly thrust inside her and probed again and again, triggering a burst of elation that surged back through her back to his. The intense exhilaration echoed back and forth between them, growing in strength with each gyration until it sang a pure and urgent note of demand between them.

Quickly he withdrew his fingers and moved into position atop her, snugging his hips into the welcoming cradle of her wide-spread thighs. It took only a second to sink into her valley and there he made himself pause, gazing down into her flushed and enraptured face. With a kiss, he thrust his hips forward and plunged hilt-deep within her, even as thunder rumbled and the ground shuddered beneath them. The entry was sudden and powerful and her hips lifted in answer, her back arched up in ecstasy.

He drew back and lunged again, then settled into a strong, steady cadence, the rain outside pounding heavily as if providing a tympani to his rhythm.

The storm seemed to build along with their own intensity and there was a tremendous crash of thunder as Spock slammed into her a final time and the fury of their own tempest unleashed itself in a rapturous orgasm, their minds soaring and bodies exploding in a lightning storm of euphoria.

In the back of the cave, both children stirred and murmured, then quieted and slept on. The two adults clung to one another and rode their cyclone to a whirlwind and finally to a zephyr of summer warmth. They remained joined, hearts beating in meter, breath gusting against each other's mouths, until at last they could bring themselves back to the darkness of their home, clutching one another in the afterglow of their love.

 _I'm going to start calling you the Storm King_ , Christine thought to him. _There's just something about thunderstorms that bring out the best in you._

He rose on his forearms over her and bent to kiss her, then thrust his still firm erection into her depths once more, teasingly, provocatively. _It must be the electricity in the air_ , he answered with a playful smile. _It continues to energize me. I'm afraid we shall simply have to continue our activities as long as the storm lasts. I simply have no choice in the matter_.

She wriggled and that encouraged a pulse of his hardening shaft within her as his erection renewed itself to full strength.

 _Ah, well, if we must, we must_ , she grinned up at him, her mind conveying her own replenished arousal. Pulling him down to meet her lips, she sighed and projected to him, _My wonderful Storm God ... your goddess awaits your thunderbolts yet again!_

That brought an amused, skeptical reaction chuckling from Spock's thoughts. _Do not get carried away, Christine! A modest ejaculation is hardly the stuff of legends!_

_Mmmm ... speak for yourself, Thor! And get busy with those thunderbolts!_

* * *

Hands on his hips, Spock surveyed the damage the last few days of rain had done to the excavation. Hollowed down about three inches below surface level, the entire area of the cabin dugout was filled with muddy water, its surface ruffling in the light breeze and sloshing over the rim to drizzle in a little runnel down the slope toward the creek.

Christine clucked her tongue and shook her head. "What a mess!"

"Indeed," Spock answered. "This must be drained and then it will take at least a week to dry out enough to allow us to sink the framing posts. And the lumber needs to dry as well. It is soaked from the rain."

"What's the best way to drain this?"

"Well, we have not yet cut the door opening into the foundation. Beginning the cut ought to create a channel that will serve as a drain," the Vulcan sighed.

"Sounds good to me."

"Very well. Mark where you want the door and I will get the tools to begin."

As Spock went to retrieve the elk shoulder blade that served as a spade, Christine took one of the antler picks and began scratching out the dimensions of a doorway. Behind her, little T'Jenn stood watching, one dirty finger stuck in her mouth. Sapel had gone down to the pond to watch the torrent of runoff pouring over the waterfall and that, in turn, surging out into the creek to flow away toward the main river. The creek itself was up to the top of its banks, its current filled with debris from its journey through the woods above the falls.

Spock returned and spent a few minutes gouging out a three inch cut in the foundation wall, then stood back as water gushed out of the opening and galloped down the hill in a turbid rivulet. It picked up leaves and tiny twigs as it did so, carrying them along with it.

T'Jenn's blue eyes widened with delight as she spotted a bright colored leaf afloat in the miniature river, and she set out in pursuit of the make-shift boat. Neither Spock nor Christine noticed her departure, their attention turned on the draining water from the cabin's ankle-deep foundation pit. "That ought to do it," the woman commented. "It'll still be muddy as hell for a few days, but if we don't get any more rain, it should dry up nicely."

Spock nodded agreement. "I regret the time lost in the next week, but I shall put it to good advantage. I noticed that the herds are beginning to move. Sapel and I will carry out a hunt up on the open plains as soon as the creek recedes enough to allow us to cross. Meanwhile, we should be able to bag game on this side near the woods. I spotted a small herd of prairie deer there four days ago. They do not go far and—"

Christine had been looking around behind her, brows beginning to lower in concern, and she interrupted her husband. "Where's T'Jenn?" she demanded.

Her alarm growing, Christine started toward the creek, calling, "Jenny? Jenn, where are you?!" Spock followed her.

His wife's walk became a trot and then an all-out run, punctuated by a near-hysterical scream. "JENNY!!" Then she dived headlong into the turbid, roiling waters.

Spock skidded to a halt on the bank, his eyes wildly scanning the stream. Christine popped up mid-way across and thirty yards downstream, gasped for air, and struck out toward an object on the far side. It was hard to see what it was, then a flash of pink skin and what appeared to be a limb surfaced for a second before being pulled under again.

"Jenny!!" the Vulcan exclaimed and began to run down the bank, trying to catch and keep apace of the woman who was struggling to reach the spot w here the little body had last appeared. But Christine was having trouble. The current was too swift and deep and she was being sucked under herself. Spock made an instant decision and dived in, too.

At once, the raging waters sought to push him to the bottom but his Vulcan strength allowed him to fight his way up for a gulp of air. The current was pushing him swiftly downstream, but he struggled with all his might toward the place he'd last seen his daughter. There! The body bobbed up again and Spock made a lunge to grab it.

What he caught nearly stunned him into disaster, into losing his battle with the creek. It wasn't Jenny! The pinkish body was that of a drowned bush pig, child-sized and disguised by the muddy waters roiling around them. Instantly, Spock released it and searched around him. No Jenny, but instead he saw his wife, far downstream now and obviously in serious trouble. She was flailing wildly against the rush of the waters, being pulled under more often than she was above, and she was rushing at break neck speed toward the little cataract where the creek emptied into the main river, itself wide and beyond flood stage.

Spock launched himself after her and swam as if his life — no, _her_ life — depended on it. It seemed to take years and the creek fought him every foot of the way, pushing him underneath the deadly waters, pummeling him with debris, eddies and whirlpools pushing him off course. And he could no longer see her! He'd lost her in the torrent!

Frantic, he reached out with his mind, searching through their bond for her. She didn't answer and he searched harder. So intent was he in his mental grappling, that he nearly missed her physical body, hung up on an uprooted tree that had fallen over into the creek, but not yet torn completely loose.

"Christine!" he managed to gasp and fought his way to her. She didn't respond, limp and face-down in the water. With literally inhuman strength, he got her loose and dragged her up onto the shore, well away from the creek's grasp, and laid her flat on the grass. "Christine!"

Underneath the mud streaking her form, her skin was pale and bluish, her eyes closed, her body preternaturally still. Frantically, he went to work on her. Checking first for a pulse — there was none — he began CPR, alternately pumping her heart with the heels of his hands and then locking his mouth over hers to force air into her lungs. It took four repetitions before she abruptly jerked, choked and water gushed from her mouth.

Quickly, Spock turned her onto her side, head down, and held her in that position as she vomited water and bile. For the next several minutes, Christine retched, choked, coughed and struggled to breathe. After a very long time, she was drawing in shallow breaths, still coughing deeply and bringing up dark mucous, but breathing on her own.

Spock clutched her against his soaked and mud-streaked body, holding her as if afraid to let her go, and tears of relief and sorrow cut channels through the grime covering his face.

"Jenn?" Christine managed to gasp.

"It wasn't her," her husband answered. "I couldn't find her. She's gone, beloved. She's ... gone."

He broke down and Christine dissolved into sobs as well, punctuated by wracking coughs. Cold, drenched and covered with the filth of the raging creek behind them, the two parents huddled in each other's arms, weeping for their lost child.

"Papa?" came Sapel's tremulous voice. "Mama? Are you okay?"

Spock and Christine looked up from their shared sorrow to see their son and Christine gave a small cry. Sapel had T'Jenn parked on his hip, the toddler peering at them curiously, her thumb stuck in her mouth. She was dry and had obviously been nowhere near the water.

Both adults were struck dumb in their state of emotional overload, so Sapel explained, "I saw her going down toward the creek. I got her before she could fall in. Then I saw the two of you run and jump into the water."

"Oh, Sapel," Christine managed to say then dissolved into tears that mingled joy, grief and shock at all that had happened in so short a period of time.

Spock had quickly regained control of himself and nodded. "You did the right thing, Sapel. Now let's get back home. Your mother and I are sorely in need of a bath and dry clothing."

Spock got to his feet and reached to help Christine up, but she staggered and went back down in a fit of coughing.

Quietly, he knelt and gathered her into his arms, standing again effortlessly. Together, the foursome made their way back to the cave, Christine limp and still crying softly in her husband's strong embrace.

* * *

Christine continued to wheeze and breathe shallowly the next day, coughing and bringing up mucous. By the day after that, she had a raging fever and was huddled in her furs, alternately sweating and shivering. Spock did for her what he could, but both knew their medical options were practically nil.

"Pneumonia," she whispered. "My lungs ... infected from ... water in them."

"I know," Spock told her solemnly. "I've gathered nettle root. I'm making a tea from it."

"Clamber vine," she wheezed. "Add that. Opens ... lungs."

"I will. You lie still now," he admonished her gently. "Are you warm enough?"

Christine nodded and coughed a little. "Prop me up ... a little. Breathe better."

He did so then went to check on the tea. Bringing her a steaming bowl, he assisted her to drink then asked, "Do you feel well enough for me to leave you for a short time? I need to work a bit on the cabin."

"Sure. I'm just ... going to sleep," she answered then coughed for a moment.

"I will not be far," he assured her. "I will have the children with me. And I will check on you shortly."

Christine nodded and snuggled down into the furs, closing her eyes. She heard Spock go out and after a while there came the muted sounds of activity near the new sod house. She drifted into sleep, dozing and dreaming for an indeterminate time. She awoke with her abdomen twisting in a cramp. "Oh, great," she muttered. Just what she needed. Undoubtedly, the water she'd swallowed had been contaminated. Likely she'd picked up a bacteria or parasite and was about to be blessed with dysentery or something similar.

Throwing off her covers, Christine managed to get up and staggered into the latrine, where she squatted astride the crack in the floor. For a long while, nothing happened, except for the hard cramps, then she realized something warm was trickling down her thighs. Looking down, she saw blood, bright and thick, and for a second panicked. Then she snorted in disgust.

 _Nothing for months and I suddenly have a period!_ she thought. _Great timing, body!_

Her abdomen twisted again and she felt more blood ooze out. Realizing that she needed assistance, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on Spock. She was in no way telepathic, but she could often reach him through their mind bond.

He was there in two minutes. "Christine, what is it— You're bleeding!"

"Help me," she managed as another cramp hit. "Get my ... padding."

He complied instantly, returning with a long strip of leather and a thick wad of sphagnum moss. As he helped her with the makeshift sanitary belt and napkin, he said, "I didn't think you were menstruating any longer."

"That's menopause ... for you," she answered breathlessly.

The activity had made her weak and pale. After they had her cleaned up, Spock carried her back to bed and got her settled once more. He reheated the tea and propped her up so that she could drink some more. The brew was stronger now, its medicinal qualities more pronounced. It eased her cramps and fever and she quickly fell back asleep. After making sure that she was dozing peacefully, Spock went back to his work.

Her temperature had risen while she was up and her mind sank in and out of troubled dreams. She settled into one that was especially disturbing. She was crouched naked over the latrine opening, her belly swollen with pregnancy, laboring to give birth. That she was pregnant mystified her. She wasn't able to have any more children. She was too old and her menses had stopped.

But there was definitely a baby coming now, and she put her hands down between her legs to catch the child issuing out of her. There was a gush of blood and birth fluids and abruptly her hands were clutching a minuscule, thumb-sized baby, fully formed and perfect. It was a tiny little boy, the image of Spock. No, he was Human, like her father ... or maybe he was a blend of both. She couldn't tell. Her vision was blurred. All she knew was that he was impossibly small, no more than two inches, and covered with slimy birth mucous. In fact, she was having trouble holding onto him.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her then, amazingly, spoke in a clear voice. "You're wrong," he said. "Turn loose."

Christine gave a cry and nearly dropped him, but the baby struggled with unnatural vigor and finally turned his head and sank a full set of teeth into the ball of her thumb.

Instinctively, she jerked her hand away and the tiny infant was slung free, plummeting down into the crack to the latrine pit and small stream below.

"Nooo!" screamed the horrified woman and went down on her hands and knees, searching frantically in the semi-darkness for her child.

There was no sign of him or, indeed, that she'd ever given birth. Her stomach was flat, she was not bleeding, and she was abruptly back in her bed of furs, her face soaked with perspiration and her body trembling with the aftermath of the dream.

And, of course, that's all it was, she told herself as she tried to still her thudding heart. Just a fever dream. A bad dream brought on by illness. Reaching for the cup beside her, Christine drank some of the now cold tea, its bitterness softened by honey, and lay back once more. _Positive, happy thoughts,_ she ordered herself. But as she drifted into sleep, the dreams began again and this time she was lost on the plains and couldn't find her way home.

* * *

The fever had lessened by the next morning and Christine felt better, although still with lungs full of permacrete and limbs that had no more strength than a new colt. Spock brought her breakfast and cleaned her, sponging warm water over her body to wash away the sweat. He assisted her to the latrine and brought her fresh padding.

"I'm okay," she insisted. "Go tend the kids. I need to 'go' ... and I don't need ... an audience."

"Very well. I shall check on you shortly," he answered and left her alone.

Christine untied the knot that was holding her moss-filled absorbent strap and lowered it to dump out the fouled packing. In the act, she paused and stared at the sphagnum lining. It was engorged with shed blood and tissue that she had passed. Nothing unusual except for its being a very heavy flow, but in its midst was a rather large, red-black lump.

Christine frowned at it for a long time, her dream coming back to her and her mind frantically trying to see a baby in the shreds of flesh.

 _It's not a miscarriage_ , she told herself firmly. _It's just a clot. It is nothing but shed uterine lining. You know what an embryo looks like, Chapel. Stop imagining things!_ But still she stared, her heart a tight ball within her chest.

"Christine?" Spock's voice interrupted her. "Is something wrong?"

She snapped out of her reverie. "No. I'm fine. Give me ... five minutes."

"As you wish," he answered and stepped back out to allow her to finish her morning business. Christine steeled herself and dumped the soiled padding down the crack to disappear in the darkness.

* * *

The morning sun did a lot to offset the chill of the autumn morning and Christine relished being outside in the fresh air. Wrapped in her furs and clutching a cup of steaming tea between her hands, she watched Spock work at securing the uprights that would form the frame of the new addition. It had been a month since her near fatal drowning and she was still recovering from the effects of pneumonia and the shock to her system. Spock worried over her and refused to let her over-exert herself, but gradually she was doing more and more. But this morning she was content to enjoy her post-breakfast tea and watch her tall husband work.

Sapel was helping him plant the uprights and secure them together with wooden pegs hammered into the cross beams. The cabin was beginning to take shape. The doorway was framed and Spock had promised her a window once the sod bricks began to form the wall.

Jenny came to her mother and snugged underneath the warm furs. Christine cuddled her little daughter close, mindful of how near she'd come to losing her.

"Dink, Mama," the child said and Christine let her sip at the hot herbal tea.

"Do you want to help Mama find berries today?" the woman asked.

"Bewwies!"

"Okay, when it warms up a little." Christine had been keeping an eye on the tangle of berry vines that had overgrown the pile of detritus left from a long ago flood and which they'd piled up on the far side of the creek. The stream was small and mild once more, only ankle-to-shin deep, and easily crossed by the stepping stones they had laid down years before. The blueberry-like fruit was now bursting with purple juice and Christine knew that they would have to scramble to get any or lose the crop to foraging birds and small game. Already the feasters were beginning to gather as the fruit ripened.

"In fact," Christine said, almost to herself, "let's get going. I don't relish having to push into those brambles to get what's left!"

Rising, she went back into the cave to retrieve their gathering baskets, regular-sized for her and a miniature one for T'Jenn, then started toward the crossing, her daughter in tow.

"Christine?" Spock's voice stopped her. He was watching her with concern etched on his face, pausing in his work.

"I'm just going to the berry bush," she answered. "Don't get upset. I'll be right over there."

"Do not over-tax yourself," he cautioned.

"Pooh! I'm fit enough to pick berries," she retorted. "You fuss like an old hen."

"I simply do not want—"

She waved him to silence and continued on her way. The climb up the far bank winded her a little, but soon she and Jenny were busy at their berry gathering. At least Christine was. The little girl had more berries smashed around her mouth and squished between her fingers than found their way into her basket.

"Madame, you are a mess!" her mother scolded. "You are going to be dyed purple for a month!"

T'Jenn giggled in delight and stuck her juice-covered fingers in her mouth, sucking on their tart taste.

After a couple of hours, Christine was out of energy and they walked back to the cave. Spock and Sapel had the cabin frame up and were working on the roof timbers, Sapel straddling a beam and pounding pegs into pre-drilled holes to lock the lumber into place.

"It looks great!" Christine approved. "You'll have it finished in no time!"

"This is the easy part," Spock replied, wiping his face with the back of his leather-gloved hand. He had shed his shirt, as had Sapel, in the day's increasing heat and Christine paused to enjoy the view. "Once we begin cutting and laying the sod, our progress will slow down markedly. I had planned on all three of us working, but that is now impossible."

Christine felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her and she snapped her gaze back up to his face. "I'm sorry I loused up your plans," she responded in a hard voice.

That caused Spock to stop and fix her with an intent glance, her abrupt change of mood both puzzling and irritating him as its backwash flooded through their mindbond. "I have not accused you of anything," he answered in a fairly icy tone. "Your condition results from circumstances we could not have foreseen. I fail to see the reason for your defensiveness."

"I'm not defensive! But I'm tired of being treated like an invalid!"

"You are not well yet," he pointed out in that maddening "logical" inflection he still used when certain he was right about something.

Christine felt her teeth grit. "You are asking for it!" she warned.

"Askin' for what, Mama?" queried Sapel, who had been watching the argument in delight.

As suddenly as her bad mood had overtaken her, it was gone, replaced by her son's mischievous disposition. She turned to him and narrowed her eyes. "A spanking," she answered, directing her remark at the boy.

Sapel laughed out loud with glee. "You gonna spank Papa?" he demanded incredulously. "He's bigger'n you!"

Christine glanced at Spock who was now standing with his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow elevated in a superior, challenging manner. And he had drawn up to his full height, emphasizing the fact that he had several inches on her.

"Yes, but _you're_ not bigger than me!" she said and abruptly grabbed the boy's ankle, making as if to yank him off his perch.

Sapel shrieked and grabbed at the crossbeams he was straddling. Simultaneously, Spock leaped forward to catch him if he fell and the family ended up in a tangle on the ground, laughing. T'Jenn pounced on the heaped bodies a second later, leaving a trail of smeared purple juice wherever she touched.

* * *

"Mama!" Sapel demanded in utter frustration. "Make her quit it!"

T'Jenn's high-pitched squeal punctuated his plea and the two-year-old slammed her fist into her brother's back.

"Ow! Jen, I'm gonna knock you silly!" the boy roared and vaulted to his feet. T'Jenn shrieked again, this time in terror, and made a dash for her mother's protection.

" _Stop! It!_ " Christine commanded at the top of her voice in a tone that halted both children in their tracks. There was an interlude of stunned silence then Christine continued, "I have had it! You two are driving me insane!" Indeed, the red-faced woman did appear on her way to a nervous breakdown. "Sapel, you get back over there and finish peeling those tubers like I told you to! T'Jenn, you sit yourself down right there and be quiet! You are in time out, young lady!"

"No!" the child retorted with her bottom lip stuck out defiantly.

"Sit!" Christine indicated the spot with a pointed finger. Jenny stamped her foot but otherwise refused to move. Her mother was in no mood for it. It had been a long day and she was exhausted. She spun the toddler around, landed a swat on her backside, and plunked her down in the spot indicated. "Do not move from there until I say you can!"

Jenny's face wrinkled up, her complexion turned beet red, and she let out a howl of outrage. Then she fell over on her back and began to kick and scream with all her might.

Spock chose that moment to duck into the cave opening, holding a brace of skinned and cleaned rock hares by the hind legs, ready to roast. His expression somewhere between alarm and puzzlement, he demanded, "What's wrong?! Is she hurt?"

"No, she's mad," Christine answered sharply, attempting to continue with her supper preparations. "She's having a knockdown, drag-out temper tantrum."

"This is unacceptable," the Vulcan declared and put the hares down by the fire, then turned to his daughter.

"Leave her alone!" Christine snapped.

"But I can stop her crying."

"You are not going to reward this behavior with attention!" His wife leveled a glare at him that could have cut dutronium.

Spock straightened back up. "It is highly illogical to allow her continued emotional outburst."

His wife's blue eyes bored into him as did the overflow of her anger. "I will handle this," she responded tightly. So saying, she rose to her feet and marched to where T'Jenn had settled into a rhythm of scream-kick-draw breath, scream-kick-draw breath. The woman picked the child up without further ado and took her outside the cave entrance. Putting her down out of sight of the doorway, she said, "There. Knock yourself out. When you get ready to act right, you can come back in."

Spinning back around, Christine returned to the cave and her cooking. Spock remained where he had been standing and looked back and forth between his wife and the doorway. Outside, the furious screams continued for a couple of moments, then began to taper off. After five minutes, there was silence.

"Remarkable!" he commented. "How did you know how to deal with this?"

"I'm the mother of a two-year-old," Christine answered. "Don't think this is the first time I've had to handle this. She's just going through the Terrible Two's and she's asserting her independence. She's been pushing the envelope all day."

"Sapel never acted this way."

"Yes, he did. You just never witnessed it. And he's more Vulcan in nature. Jenny takes after the Human side of the family." Christine looked up to find her daughter peeking around the corner of the door. When the child saw that she had her mother's attention, she immediately fell down and began to scream again. Christine snapped, "Get back to where you're supposed to be!"

Wailing even louder, Jenny crept back out of sight. This caused Spock's brows to soar toward his hairline. "What was that all about?" he demanded.

"Oh, a temper tantrum's not any fun unless you have an audience," his wife explained with a snort. "She'll be back in a few minutes."

Sure enough, the noise only lasted half as long this time and when T'Jenn made a reappearance in the doorway, the toddler was sniffling sorrowfully and her huge blue eyes were streaming genuine tears.

"Are you ready to behave?" her mother asked quietly. The little girl nodded, sticking a finger in her mouth. "All right. You can come back in now."

The child made straight for her mother and snuggled into her lap, where Christine kissed and comforted her, rocking her gently. "When you act bad, you get punished," she told her. "When you're a good girl, you get a treat. Can you be a good girl?"

Again T'Jenn nodded. "Okay. Here's a little bite of berry cake, made with the berries you helped Mommy pick the other day. Is that good?"

Jenny nodded again and stuffed the sweet cake into her mouth. "Have more?" she asked, her voice muffled.

"No, not now. We'll be having supper pretty soon." Christine brushed the crumbs away from her mouth. "Why don't you let Papa take you and wash that pretty face of yours, hmm?"

That brought a watery smile and Jenny scampered into her tall father's arms. "Papa! Saw a red birdie today!"

"Did you now?" Spock asked as he carried his daughter out to clean her tear-streaked face. "Where?"

Their conversation was lost as they moved away from the cave entrance and a very tired Christine returned to get the two hares on the fire and roasting.

* * *

She was turned on her side and nearly asleep when Spock slipped into the furs behind her. Her tension and fatigue were obvious as soon as he touched her and instinctively he pulled her close. "What's wrong?" he murmured against her hair. "You have not been yourself this past month."

"I'm okay. Just tired."

"No, it is more than that. You have been ... moody, I believe is the term. One moment happy, the next depressed, then contented again, then angry."

She shrugged. "It's just menopause," she answered. "Mood swings are part of it."

"I believe it is more than that," he persisted softly. "You have been especially emotional since your unexpected menstrual period a month ago. Are you upset because you had thought you were done with that part of your life? Tell me what troubles you, _t'hy'la_."

Christine was silent for a long moment, then turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest, tears breaking through despite her attempt to contain them. "Spock, I think I had a miscarriage," she managed then gave herself over to her grief.

He was stunned and for a while simply held his sobbing wife as he attempted to assimilate this sudden news. At last he said, "Why did you not tell me?"

"Because I wasn't sure. It might have been nothing."

"But you don't believe that," he prodded gently.

"I don't know. I really don't know," she answered and wiped her face. "I'm just so torn up emotionally ... in a lot of ways. That I might have lost a baby. That I could still get pregnant when I thought I couldn't. That we've been careless because of that." She sniffed and brushed away tears again.

He tilted her face up and kissed her. When he lifted his lips from hers, he held her gaze meaningfully, his brown eyes solemn, and assured her, "I am to blame if that is true, my wife. I have not been vigilant either, believing the same as you. More than once I thought I detected a change in the scent of your skin when we made love, but I dismissed it."

"Oh, Spock, that's such lousy way of birth control!"

"Perhaps, but the only other way I know of is to cease sexual relations completely."

Her eyes filled again and she shook her head. "No. I couldn't bear that. I love you so much and I love loving you so much! I'd rather take our chances than give up sex with you!"

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her forehead. "I am of much the same mind, my beloved," he whispered. "I cherish thee above all else and the loss of intimacy would distress me greatly. We will be more mindful that you might still be able to conceive and attempt to avoid such an occurrence. But for now, go to sleep. You are tired and still not fully recovered. We will talk about it more tomorrow. Rest."

Enclosed in his protective embrace, she relaxed for the first time in days and was soon asleep, secure that Spock would do all he could to put things right. She dreamed silly, contented dreams that night and, when morning finally came and found her still curled in her husband's strong arms, she somehow felt as if she'd left her burdens behind and everything would be all right once again.

* * *

The season's first light snowfall greeted them one morning early in winter, but it barely frosted the yellowed grass and naked trees. The wind had already turned around to the south and melting snow was dripping from glazed limbs and branches. Along the overhang of the cave, a fringe of long icicles glittered in the sun and the children were delighted when Christine snapped off one for each of them. Laughing, they sucked on the frozen treats until the cold penetrated and they threw them down, shattering the ice into crystal shards that melted quickly on the sun-warmed rock. Then they began again with freshly harvested icicles in hand.

Scruffy and her nearly grown cubs ventured out, stepping delicately and vigorously shaking their paws clear of the clinging snow before bounding up the slope behind the cave and disappearing to hunt. They would probably be back at nightfall, the temperatures now too cold to pass up a warm shelter.

Spock followed the hunting cats up to the bluff and stood for a long time gazing out over the rolling plains, the wind whipping his long black hair about his face and chapping his high cheekbones a verdant green. Clad in fringed buckskins and a fur-hooded parka, he looked supremely at home on the wild prairie, as if he'd been born there and not on some cultured desert world half a galaxy away.

Watching him, Christine let her thoughts sweep back for a moment to her own family and home and to the friends they had left behind on the _Enterprise_. She could barely remember it now, a lifetime lost eons ago. The spark of hope that they would be rescued had nearly ceased to exist, grown so faint that it no longer showed any signs of life. And yet it was still there, buried deep and refusing to fully go away. Some day, she thought. Some day I'll look up and it'll be Jim standing there.

And yet something inside her knew it wasn't true. They would have been found long ago if they were ever going to be. It was ten years now since Tal had stranded them here, some place so far removed from civilization that even the free traders didn't come here. There had just been that one time, that one rogue ship of pirates, and they had only been following the errant distress signal from the derelict Romulan ship they'd discovered. Spock had destroyed the downed ship after that, too fearful of that sort of discovery to risk it happening again. Better to live here free than be "rescued" to a life in slavery.

Feeling eyes upon her, Christine looked up to find Spock's gaze resting on her from where he stood at the top of the hill. His lips were curved into a slight smile and his dark brown eyes were crinkled with love and humor. It was an expression she realized she had seem him wear on the _Enterprise_ , usually in the company of the Captain or Leonard or Uhura, but occasionally directed at her, when he thought she wasn't looking or when no one else would see. Now his love for her was open, their mated-bond firm and as natural as breathing.

She smiled back and he strode down to stand beside her, his breath fogging in the still frigid air. They exchanged a light kiss and Spock gave a sigh, crossing his arms in a characteristic manner.

"I need to hunt before the winter really sets in and the herds move," he said, watching his children throw slushy snowballs at each other. "We have a good larder set in, but it won't hurt to stock more meat in cold storage."

Christine nodded. "The summer's been good and so far the winter's been mild, but it's still a long way 'til spring. A lot can happen by then."

"Sapel and I will go tomorrow. There are still herds on the far pastures and I could hear elk bugling while I was up there. They're still in rut. They'll be easy to get before they move into the deep woods for the winter."

"I don't want you going after elk," she answered, frowning. "I can't forget what happened before."

"Now who is fussing like an old hen?" he teased her. "That was only one incident and I have not suffered such a mishap since. But I'll see what tomorrow brings. Right now, I need to begin getting our supplies together and checking weapons. I'll want to start early tomorrow morning."

* * *

Their dun-colored clothing further disguised with tied-on branches and leaves, Spock and Sapel crept forward as quietly as they could. They were downwind of the bull elk and his cows, but the deer could hear and see them if they moved too abruptly. The bull was massive, well over six feet at the shoulder, thickly muscled neck and shoulders supporting a gigantic rack of antlers, these further enhanced by the ripped up grasses and small branches he had thrashed with them and torn apart. They hung from the spreading rack like tattered banners, proclaiming his power and dominance. His hard, well-developed body was covered with scars and small wounds, evidencing the battles he had fought with other bulls.

Always vigilant for interlopers that might attempt to steal one of his harem, his temper was now further sharpened by the high level of testosterone surging through his system. He was chasing a cow in estrus, her tantalizing scent causing him to salivate and champ his teeth, his excitement prominent. He would tolerate no interference with his duties and desires now. Distracted by her nearness, he turned back to the cow.

The hunters inched forward a bit more and again the bull halted, anxiously scanning the forest, ears and nose trembling for any sound, any scent. But all was quiet and motionless. After a minute, he lowered his head to the cow's rump, sniffing at her tail. She responded by squatting and urinating. He curled his upper lip and snuffed the air through his open mouth in a Flamen gesture, tasting her scent even more strongly. It pushed him over the edge and he quickly mounted her. For a few minutes, the bull thrust and grunted, then gave a bellow and was done. Dismounting, he stood running his tongue in and out of his mouth while he again scanned for danger. The cow, unconcerned, moved off to graze.

Spock glanced sideways at his son and noted that the boy's eyes were wide, fixed on the elk, and the father flicked an eyebrow up appraisingly. He must sit down with Sapel very soon. He was close to eleven in Vulcan years and his Awakening would come before long.

But at the moment his attention turned back to the elk herd. There were four cows and two yearling calves grazing while the bull kept watch. Spock's target was one of the yearlings. Either would offer tender meat and neither would be of breeding age yet. By spring their mothers would have new calves and the now grown elk would be on their own. Spock watched closely and determined that one calf was male, the other female. He chose the male calf as his target and whispered that information to Sapel.

The bull was still suspicious, his instincts alerting him to danger he couldn't see. Spock and Sapel held motionless for long minutes, camouflaged and silent. After an endless stand off, the bull snorted and turned to graze, cropping the short yellow grass that protruded through the thin snow cover.

The hunters crept forward again. As the herd began to move off, Spock rose and nocked an arrow onto the braided sinew bowstring, pulling it back taunt. The bow creaked from the strain and instantly the bull's head came around with a grunt of alarm, ears forward, eyes fixed on the man.

The arrow was already in flight and it thunked on target into the yearling's rib cage, straight into its heart. But Spock never saw the elk calf go down, because the bull was on him in a whirlwind of slashing, pounding hooves, the huge wicked antlers plowing into him, flipping him into the air and stabbing through his clothing like spears. Spock tried to both fight and protect himself, but a man was no match for a ton of enraged giant deer, and finally he curled into a ball and simply tried to make himself as small as possible, all the while feeling bones crack and muscles scream as the attack went on and on and on.

Suddenly there was a high-pitched war screech and an arrow slammed into the bull's shoulder. Another embedded itself in the muscular neck and the bull elk had had enough. He wheeled and raced after his fleeing herd, disappearing into the forest.

Sapel was instantly at his father's side, falling to his knees beside the groaning man. "Papa! Are you all right? How bad are you hurt?"

Spock gulped, his eyes closed, and mentally went over his wounds. "Collarbone … ribs…" he gasped. "Broken …maybe punctured lung … don't know." He coughed, groaned and spat flecks of green blood into the snow.

"What can I do?" the boy asked anxiously.

Spock struggled for breath once more. "Build fire … then go get … Mama." He paused to draw several painful inhalations and coughed up more blood. "Tell her … bring things … for travois. Can't walk."

Sapel helped his father sit up with his back to a tree trunk, enabling Spock to breathe a little better, then he quickly gathered firewood and piled it near to hand so that it was within easy reach and Spock could feed the fire while he was alone.

They didn't have their fire starter with them, but Sapel was practiced at starting fires and he soon had a blaze going. Making sure that Spock's hunting spear was at hand, he checked his father one last time and then took off at a dead run for home.

T'Jenn in her arms, Christine was already coming out to meet him as soon as she saw his figure appear in the distance.

"Sapel, what's wrong?" she demanded.

"It's Pa!" he panted, gasping to catch his breath. "Elk got 'em!"

"I knew it! I felt that something had happened!" Christine collected herself then asked, "How bad is he?"

"Thinks his ribs are broke," Sapel gulped. "Collarbone, too, maybe. And he can't breathe good."

"Okay. Let's get what we need and go get him." The woman's innate strength and calm under fire were asserting themselves. "Tell me what happened."

On the way back to the cave, Sapel related the events as clearly as he could. Christine was busy calculating what Spock's condition might be and began tossing everything she needed onto a bull hide tent, including bandages, furs and medicines. Then she caught up a couple of long, straight spears propped against the wall, gathered up her children, and they set out toward the thin column of smoke rising from the edge of the woods about two miles away.

* * *

Spock awoke with a start as a soft hand touched his cheek. He had been drifting, his body automatically shutting down into a healing trance, unable to resist the autonomic reflexes of an injured Vulcan body. Now he blinked muzzily at his wife's face, hovering over him in concern.

"Must heal..." he mumbled as her face swam in and out of focus.

"Spock, stay awake!" she commanded, glaring at him sternly. "I need to get you home first!"

"Can't ... so tired..." he murmured and his eyes fluttered shut. "Two days..." And everything went black.

* * *

The hand that touched his cheek this time wasn't soft. Instead it connected with such force that he nearly saw stars. Pain exploded through his body and his eyes flew open, wild and searching. It was cold and seemed oddly dark and he hurt abominably, particularly in his chest. When he tried to draw breath, his lungs didn't want to work and, for a moment, he gasped frantically, choking.

Then two hands seized his face and Christine's sharp voice cut through the fog. " _Kroykah!_ Stop fighting! Take a long, slow breath and let it out. Good. Now another. How do you feel?"

Spock tried to get his vision to stop dancing but couldn't make his irises obey his will. His body was outraged at being awakened before it was ready. It hadn't healed yet. There hadn't been time. Confused, he glared at the fuzzy face above him.

"Spock, you must stay awake!" his wife's voice demanded. "You have to tell me where you are hurt! I have to know before I can move you!"

He struggled, using the pain to center himself, to grab and hold onto. She was right. If he sank into a healing trance here, in the open, he would die of exposure. And predators would come soon to take the carcass of the elk calf. Already he could hear them howling in the woods. There were sounds of fighting, too. The wolves had probably found the wounded bull and pulled him down. But they were always hungry, always seeking fresh prey.

Spock's eyes opened again and he looked wildly around. It was nearly twilight already. The darkness was the shadows of the forest spreading out before the setting sun. The campfire still blazed, fed back up by Sapel, who was keeping his little sister out of the way as Christine tended to her wounded husband.

The Vulcan took a deep breath, felt his lungs fill, although there was excruciating pain in his left side when he did so.

"Ribs..." he said. "Three ... maybe four ... broken." Christine nodded, observing him keenly, clinically. "Left clavicle ... cracked." He took another experimental breath. "I do not believe ... my lung ... is punctured."

"Yet," Christine answered. "But it could be if we move you too roughly. I'm going to have to wrap your ribs and immobilize your shoulder. I brought you a numbstick to chew on while I do it. It's going to hurt like hell, but I don't have anything to give you right now. Once we get back home..."

"I will endure it," he answered. "Once home ... I will ... seek _kan'sorn_ and heal."

There was a mournful howl uncomfortably close from the depths of the woods.

"You should hurry," Spock told her tightly. "We should leave ... here before ... dark."

"My thoughts exactly," the woman replied grimly. "Let's get started."

* * *

The night went on for years, Spock slipping into and out of consciousness, Christine and Sapel laboring to pull the travois bearing his body over the muddy ground. T'Jenn rode beside her father, huddling under the furs that covered him, unable to understand why he didn't always respond when she questioned him about the howls that rent the night behind them. The three moons were nearly full and cast a cold, ghostly pallor over the plain.

The moons had crawled to the western edge of the sky before the dark slit of the valley opened before them. It took Christine and Sapel a full hour to maneuver the travois down the rough slope in the dark and, by the time they had pulled it into the cave and wedged the door guard shut, Spock was lying motionless, his face white, his jaw clenched, and streaks of tears tracking down from the corners of his tightly squeezed eyes. The last part of their journey must have been excruciating.

While Sapel again stoked up the fire in the hearth, Christine helped her husband off the travois and onto his bed furs.

"Make some tea," she directed her son. "Put a handful of those reddish leaves in it and let it boil."

"Will that help him, Mama?" Sapel asked.

"The tea's for me," she answered. "I've still got a lot to do and I need an energy shot." She turned back to tend to her husband.

Spock was out cold and she had the hunch that he'd held off as long as he could on the healing trance. Now that he was home, his body would not wait any longer. She leaned over him and spoke loudly, knowing that on some level, deep within his mind, he could hear her.

"I'll be with you, Spock. Call to me when you're ready to wake up. Right now, I'm going to undress and examine you and do what I can."

She sat back on her heels and wiped a tear from her eye. She didn't have time for that now, she told herself firmly.

"Sapel," she called softly and the boy joined her. "Put your sister to bed for me and then come back and eat something and drink some tea. We've got a lot to do before we can sleep tonight."

* * *

Two days in a healing trance accomplished the task of knitting Spock's broken bones back together, although his ribs remained tender for two more weeks. Christine had slapped him awake as he gasped his way toward consciousness until he finally caught her hand and said, "That is sufficient. Thank you."

Christine helped him sit up and gave him a sip of herb tea, which he accepted gratefully, soothing his parched throat. She checked his various wounds, now healed over, and tested the strength of his fractures. "I'll keep these bandaged for a while yet. I don't want to risk damaging them again," the woman told him. His left side was discolored by a huge bruise, ranging from sickly yellow-green to an angry emerald so dark as to be nearly black. "That's going to be there for a little while."

"It will heal in time," Spock replied with a tired sigh. His face was gaunt with pain and fatigue, his eyes shadowed by dark smudges.

Christine peered at him for a moment then said, "If you weren't still so sick, I'd knock your block off and say, 'Don't ever do that to me again!'. I will also refrain from saying 'I told you so', although I told you so!"

Spock quirked an eyebrow up at that. "Christine, that is completely illogical."

"Hmmph. Here, drink the rest of your tea, then lie back down. You are still confined to bed."

"By whose order?" he asked.

"The Chief Medical Officer," she replied. "In other words, me."

She made good on her orders, although after a day or so, Spock pushed her tolerance by being an insufferable patient until she finally let him do whatever he felt like, within reason. Restless, what he did was spend time walking on the grasslands that spread out to the east of the cave and mentally marking out blocks of sod to be cut for the house. When the ground had dried out a bit but was still soft with moisture, Spock decided it was time.

He cobbled together a crude template, four straight sticks tied together in the approximate size he wanted, then he, Christine and Sapel set to work. It was slow going — cut out the sod block with an elk shoulder blade, pry it up and then place it on a large hide for transport. Once two or three were loaded, the hide was pulled back to the building site and the block laid grass-side down in place to form part of the wall. Then it was back for more.

On a really good day, they could lay ten to twelve blocks. After three days, the height of the walls was depressingly low.

Spock had also exhausted his still reduced strength and Christine made him rest for two more days.

The moons began a new cycle, setting early in the evening with thin crescents barely showing before they sank below the horizon. It was now winter, the month they called December. The next wasn't January, however. Terra Two took fifteen turnings of its three small moons to orbit its sun. Those three extra months they had dubbed Tasmeen, Ah'keth and et'Dhior after Vulcan's winter seasons.

It should have been fairly cold by now with snow on the ground, but this year the snow hadn't come and the prevailing wind was more often out of the south than the north. Sometimes the ground appeared frosted, but it was a deception. The light gray, powdery substance was volcanic ash, blown on the wind from the still erupting mountain far out of sight to the southwest.

Whether this eruption had affected the weather patterns was unknown, but there was definitely a difference from previous years.

Spock and Sapel went hunting again on the high plains, bringing back an antelope doe. Another day went by as they prepared the meat, cutting it into strips and hanging it to dry into jerky, discarding the bits they couldn't use for the hunting cats to eat, and staking out the hide to begin the tanning process. The doe's pelt was thick and soft, ready for winter, and would make a good coat for one of the children. They also discovered during the butchering process that the doe was pregnant with a barely formed fetus. This too was given to Scruffy and her nearly grown cubs, who made short work of the tiny body, as they did with all the scraps tossed their way. Nothing went to waste.

So went December. Spock healed fully and soon regained his strength, and work on the sod house resumed. Slowly, steadily, the walls increased in height. It was harder going now. They had to move farther afield, haul them farther to get them back, and the turf was drier now, harder to chisel free. And the wind had turned back around to the north now, blowing constantly over the plains with a ceaseless bite that cut through even their warmest clothes, sucking the moisture from everything it touched, Human, Vulcan and prairie soil alike. There was still no sign of snow but this continuous glacial blast promised that deep winter would not pass them by.

* * *

As the month of Tasmeen set in, winter remained unusually dry, but Spock took advantage of the relatively good weather and worked harder than ever on the sod house. Something in him sensed a coming change in the weather and he pushed himself to keep working, long after Christine and Sapel had collapsed in exhaustion.

On this particular evening in mid-month, it was long after dark and the three moons were high in the evening sky when Spock hoisted the final slab of half-frozen sod onto the roof supports and maneuvered it into place. The walls were complete and the roof blocks, turf-side up, would grow to form a living barrier come springtime.

"There," Spock declared, his breath fogging in a great exhalation. "It still needs a window covering and a door, but our new addition is, for all intents and purposes, finished."

Christine hefted T'Jenn closer in her arms, making sure the fur wrap was snug about the child, and answered, "Good! I don't think it's a moment too soon! Look at those moons and the clouds coming in. There's snow on the way or my name isn't Betsy!"

"Christine, your name isn't Betsy," Spock replied gently, puzzled.

"It's just an expression, Spock," she retorted in exasperation. "But I'm not kidding about the snow. Look."

He turned his gaze skyward. All three of the small moons had fuzzy haloes and the stars were shining with a peculiar frostiness. To the north, all along the horizon, lay a low, dark cloud bank, heavy with moisture and approaching with ominous purpose. "Ice crystals aloft," Spock observed. "And that appears to be a cold front. It could very well snow tonight, but that is not certain."

"My bones say it's certain," Christine responded. "I'm aching like I've been beaten."

Having learned to pay attention to his wife's arthritic pains, Spock climbed down from the roof. "Then perhaps it would be prudent to bring in more wood before we retire. Sapel, help me, please."

In short order, the stack of wood inside the cave was higher and the door guard with its leather covering to block the wind was in place, sealing them in for the night. Christine already had stew and hot tea waiting for them, along with fresh-baked flatbread.

There was an air of contentment and satisfaction around the hearth of their cozy home. The firelight painting their features golden-orange and throwing long shadows on the walls, Christine served up supper and they all settled back to eat. Outside they heard the wind pick up and before long there was an almost perceptible change in the barometric pressure as the expected cold front arrived and swept over the valley.

"Reminds me of a winter night at home," Christine sighed.

"Tell us about your home, Mama," said Sapel. Of course, she had told him this story before, but it was a good evening for stories and she felt like telling it again.

"Well, when I was a little girl, just about your age, T'Jenn, I lived in a pretty valley not too different from this one. There was a river that ran through it and trees full of birds and fields with horses and cows," Christine began.

"Wha's cows?" asked Jenny, her blue eyes huge. "They like Scuffy?"

"Oh, no, sweetie," her mother answered. "They're more like the buffalo out on the plains, only they're not mean and you can pet them."

Spock stretched out on his side and propped himself on his elbow, making himself comfortable for the long tale to come. His little daughter scooted back and nestled against his stomach.

"Tell us about wintertime," Sapel interjected.

"All right," Christine agreed. "I'll tell you about Christmas."

"Wha's Kismus?" Jenny piped up.

"Oh, it's the most wonderful time of the year," their mother answered, her voice taking on the rhythm of a very old Earth song. "We would always go into the woods and cut down a great big tree, but not just any tree..."

Spock closed his eyes and let himself drift away on the sounds of his family's voices and the wind moaning outside their door. For the first time in quite a while, he allowed himself to feel utterly content and relaxed, warm and fulfilled as, outside, the first snowflakes of winter began to drift silently down.

* * *

Spock snuggled closer against his wife's back and slipped his hand up under her nightdress. Her skin was warm against his palm and he reached to cup her breast, gently massaging. She wriggled pleasantly in response and, encouraged, he bent to nuzzle her neck and ear.

"Mmmm..." she responded in a murmur. "Everyone asleep?"

He gave a soft grunt in acknowledgment. "Tucked in their beds," he answered.

They had added a new feature to the snug cave. Over on the far side, where Spock had originally slept during the first days he and Christine had taken shelter here, they had erected a screen made of a large hide stretched on a framework of poles.

Sapel had moved to that area and the screen gave him a modicum of privacy in their cramped quarters. All was silent from behind the divider and, in the back of the cave, T'Jenn was breathing softly in sleep, two of the hunting cats curled up with her. The other two were undoubtedly with Sapel, sharing the warmth of his bed.

"Good," Christine whispered and twisted in her husband's embrace, lifting her face up to kiss him. Lips parted and tongues fenced as their passions grew and sang back and forth through their mind bond.

Spock pulled her closer in his arms, his mouth coming down harder on hers, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into her stomach. She worked her nightdress up and slung a leg over his hip, grinding her nakedness against the leather breechclout that covered his.

He responded with a provocative thrust, the leather rubbing against her womanhood, and she abruptly pushed him flat on his back and straddled him. Cross-handed, she caught the hem of her tunic and peeled it off over her head, leaving her body faintly limned by the glowing embers of the hearth.

For a moment she teased him, hefting her full breasts with both hands, pressing them together and jiggling them invitingly. Pulling on her nipples until they were fully extended, she arched her back to present them to their full advantage, reaching up and back to tangle her hands amid the wild mass of her hair.

Spock was watching her performance eagerly, his gaze locked rapaciously on her lush feminine form, his erection hard and hot between her legs, still covered by his loincloth. Christine dropped her fingers to his bare chest and let her nails rake lightly through the hair over his taut nipples, down along his ribs and across his stomach. He shuddered involuntarily as his muscles shivered with ticklishness but she had moved on.

Scooting down, still straddling his thighs so that her legs were widespread across his, her hands went to the tie that held his loincloth in place and quickly had it loosened. Bending forward, she began to nuzzle him through the loose leather covering, slowly but surely working the cloth free.

It didn't take long before the rigid shaft of flesh was exposed, bobbing slightly as the loincloth was removed. Christine grasped the leather strip with her teeth and pulled. It slid up between his legs, slipping over his testicles in a way that made him lift up off the fur blanket and gasp. Smiling, his wife tossed the garment to the side and bent back to her work.

His masculine muskiness filled her senses as she swirled her tongue up the rigid pillar, over the ridges standing out along its length, and then across the smooth, mushroom head. Spock gasped again and his hips came up to meet her once more, but she ignored him and concentrated on her wet, oral explorations, taking him into her mouth and working him with her tongue and lips.

Through their bond, she could feel his excitement building into an uncontrollable burst of flame and a flurry of erotic images, both Vulcan and Human, flashed through her mind. Before his arousal reached a critical point, however, she suddenly released him and sat up. Dazed, he opened his eyes and stared at her, his chest heaving and glistening in the firelight.

Moving on her hands and knees, she positioned herself with her groin over his and knelt astride him, sitting back on her heels so that he had an unobstructed view of the tantalizing sights between her legs. Then she reached down and began to fondle herself, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his.

His penis jerked upward in response, visibly throbbing with excitement, and she took pity on him. Taking the pulsing shaft in her hand, she stroked the head up and down the slick valley of her sex, pausing to rub it against her own swollen organ, then goading him by bringing it to the very brink of her well, but moving it away before he could push inside.

Spock swallowed hard and she heard his warning rumble within her mind. He couldn't hold himself in check much longer. Deliberately, she moved his erection back to her inviting opening and held him there, just in place, letting him quiver with anticipation. Then, with maddening slowness, she began to guide him in.

Abruptly, she was on her back, his movement snake-like in his quickness as he had grasped her shoulders and rolled her beneath him. Almost as quickly, he had slammed fully within her in one mighty shove.

"You should not tease me like that," he growled next to her ear and then he was thrusting inside her with deep, powerful drives, building them both to unimaginable heights.

Christine clamped down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming, wrapping her legs around his bucking hips and digging her nails into the straining muscles of his back. Burying his face against her neck to muffle his own outcry, Spock gave a deep groan and he was there, the sensations of mutual orgasm nearly overwhelming them both.

For an eternity they hung on a knife's edge, then the rapture slacked off, releasing them to return to their own sweating, panting bodies. Tenderly they kissed, their oneness still alive and electric through their bond. Then, weak with the aftermath of the explosion that had overtaken him, Spock lifted himself and withdrew from her, his spent frame collapsing close beside her, already falling into sleep.

Christine lasted long enough to pull the covers over them, then she sank into slumber as well, exhausted.

* * *

Behind the deerhide screen that separated his sleeping space from the others', Sapel lay awake and silent, listening to his parents' activities. He had become intensely aware whenever they had sex, although they took pains to be quiet about it and always waited until they thought him asleep. It was a subject that had occupied a significant amount of his time this past year. He had watched the animals rut and go through their various mating rituals and had realized that his parents were doing the same thing.

It made him curiously excited and his body had begun to react to the very thought of it. Cautiously he reached a hand down to his penis and found it upright and firm. Touching it brought a strange and exhilarating sensation to his body and he wondered if this was what his father felt when his own penis grew long and hard. It was only one step farther to wonder what it must feel like to put his penis inside a female and move his hips back and forth. It must be good, he decided, or they wouldn't keep doing it so much.

But here Sapel reached an impasse. The males he saw around him all had a mate. The bucks had their does, the bull bison their cows, the plains stallions their mares. Even the birds and small animals and insects all had mates. Even Papa. Mama was his mate. But Sapel could see no other female for him except his sister and she was just a baby.

Then his thoughts turned back to another female he knew. Picku, his Lemurian friend. Maybe if he could find Picku again, she would be his mate.

But he had no idea where she was and, anyway, she was a very long way away and might not even still be alive. No, he could feel her, somewhere deep within his mind. Picku was still there and he vowed he would find her one day. Meanwhile, the cave had grown quiet except for soft breathing sounds and his father's quiet snoring, the howl of the wind outside the door guard, and the gentle snapping of the wood burning low in the hearth.

Sapel turned on his side in his furs and curled up into a ball, pulling the covers close around him. He went rapidly to sleep, his dreams filled with memories of his Teela'u companion.

* * *

Once begun, winter hit with a vengeance and for two months the snow was heavy and deep. Partway through the month of et'Dhior, their food supplies began to diminish and Spock and Christine began to wonder if they would have enough to see them through until spring was well underway.

Spock made the decision to hunt, despite the snow, and he and Sapel set off to the southeast, their snowshoes leaving long parallel tracks in the white blanket that covered the landscape. About a mile from home, they turned toward the woods that stretched along the eastern horizon.

"I thought we were going after plainsbuck," Sapel said, puzzlement in his voice.

Spock kept up his steady stride, his eyes ahead and a confident expression on his face. "I changed my mind," he said. "We are going for elk."

"Pa!" Sapel blurted in complete astonishment. "They've almost killed you twice!"

"Then perhaps the third time will be the charm, as your mother would say." He cut a glance at his son from the corner of his eye.

"Mama's gonna gut you!"

Spock turned a reproving gaze on the boy. "Mama is not _sa'mekh'fulag'tor_ of this family. In Vulcan society, it is the Eldest Male who leads his clan. Only an Eldest One, male or female, may supercede that authority ... and in either case, I am the ranking Elder."

"She's still gonna gut you if you get hurt again," the boy observed, an eyebrow going up in an impressive imitation of his sire.

"Then I shall endeavor not to get hurt again," Spock replied serenely. "I believe we will find game at the salt scrape near Little Horse Creek. I have often seen elk tracks there."

* * *

"Mama! Mama!" came Sapel's agitated voice.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Not again!" Christine leapt to her feet from where she had been sewing and rushed outside to see her son galloping down the slope from the bluff above the cave.

"Mama! Papa needs help!"

"I'll kill him!" she answered, going to meet the boy. Behind her, T'Jenn stood in the entryway of the cave, wiping a runny nose with the back of her hand.

"What's wrong, Sapel?" Christine demanded. "Where is he? How bad?"

"Huh?" The boy stopped short and peered up at her.

"How badly is he hurt?"

"He's not hurt," Sapel replied as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You said he needs help," his mother snapped back. "Where is he?"

"Right there," Sapel replied and looked up toward the bluff.

Spock stood with his arms crossed and an amused smirk lifting the corners of his lips, the cold wind ruffling the fur around the hood of his parka. At his wife's expression of mixed relief, surprise and exasperation, he commented in his most infuriatingly Vulcan tone, "Really, Christine. There is no reason to jump to such conclusions. It is quite illogical."

"I ... Will ... KILL ... You," she answered, slowly and forcefully.

His brows lifted in what she'd always thought of as a "Spockian" manner. "If you truly feel that is necessary, all right, but you might wish to help me move this elk carcass down the hill before you do so. Sapel and I were able to transport it over level ground, but getting it down this hillside is a bit more difficult."

"Elk?! You told me you weren't going after elk again," Christine replied, climbing up to where he stood.

"The opportunity presented itself." He gave her a hand up the final step then was silent as she surveyed the massive animal lying on the crude travois to which it was lashed.

"God, it's huge!" she exclaimed, looking over the two-year-old bull. It was still a youngster, a bachelor male, not yet mature enough to challenge the big stags but almost fully grown. This far into winter, it had long since shed its rack of antlers and the buds of new growth hadn't yet appeared.

"This'll keep us fed for a month!"

"At least," Spock answered, then shivered slightly as the wintery wind gusted, blowing snow into a flurry. "Let's talk after we get it downhill. It was quite a long, cold trip back. I am ready for some hot food and a fire and I know that Sapel must be half frozen."

* * *

"Look, Mama, flowers!" cried T'Jenn, squatting down and peering intently at the little purple blossoms pushing up through the snow.

"It's early for those," Christine replied. "Maybe we're going to have an early spring this year."

Indeed, looking around her, there was a tangible air of freshness that seemed to permeate their surroundings. The snow was already beginning to melt and the ice on the creek was breaking up. Everywhere was the drip and gurgle of water. Trees were still bare, birds had not yet returned to the area, and it was still very cold, but Christine could feel the change.

Moreover, she could feel it in herself. It was as if the grip of winter had broken and new life was ready to vault into being all around her. She felt free and slightly silly, playful and even a bit sexy. In fact, when she thought of Spock just now, she felt downright horny!

Christine laughed out loud in embarrassment and surprise, which made Jenny look up at her mother and laugh, too, although she didn't know why.

"Wanna find more flowers!" the little girl announced and seized Christine's hand, pulling her along to the next patch of color in the broken mantle of white.

* * *

Spock let his breath go in a great sigh as the tension in his body released abruptly. Beneath him, Christine gave a moan of completion and lifted her hips to meet his thrust, reveling in the incredible sensation of mutual climax.

It was one of the great benefits of their mindbond — each felt what the other experienced during Joining and the combined rapture was like nothing she had ever experienced. As his body ended its exquisite spasm and began to soften, he slumped against her for a moment, then raised himself off her and bent his head to capture her mouth in a long, tender kiss. His love for her still echoed through their bond and he smiled as he slipped off her. Both were exhausted, their lovemaking short but very satisfying, and he nestled against her, thinking almost subliminally how good she smelled, how warm and erotic and womanly. There was something about her tonight that excited him and, if he weren't so bone-tired, he would do something more about it.

But he had spent the last three days working furiously on getting the sod addition finished completely and had managed to do so late in the day. The room was now habitable, with a sturdy door and shutter over the window which could be barred to keep out weather and unfriendly creatures, leather linings pegged securely over all the walls and ceiling to both insulate and contain the inevitable dust and dirt from the turf blocks, a level, flagstone floor and a fireplace that currently contained a cheerfully cracking woodfire for heat and light.

It also contained the thick straw mattresses and sleeping furs of the two youngest members of the household. An entryway had been laboriously hacked through from the cave into the room addition next door and at long, long last the children had their own room, leaving the cave itself as the sleeping quarters of their parents, as well as the kitchen hearth and main living area. The new-found privacy for the adults was absolutely decadent. They had celebrated in bed after the children had retired for the evening and were fast asleep.

Spock just wished that the work hadn't worn him out so much. The winter had been a long one and food was beginning to run low again. Spring might be coming, but it would still be a considerable time before greens were growing and the herds returned to the plains from their migration to the south. They were all a bit thin and run down.

But at this particular moment, the only thing on his mind was the delicious proximity of his wife's luscious body to his and the sensual, musky odor that clung to her like primeval spring itself, full of promise and raw sexuality. With that last thought hovering in his subconscious, Spock fell asleep and began to dream.

* * *

The drug-laced smoke that permeated the thick atmosphere of the club was adding to the light-headedness Spock was already feeling. The smoke was coming from the spice pipes that the two Ferengis were inhaling nearby and it combined with the effects of the alcohol the Vulcan had consumed over the course of the evening. There was also the odor of sex in the air, the pheromones and secretions of a dozen different species who had gathered here to be entertained by strip dancers and live acts on the stage at the center of the small room.

Spock couldn't remember anymore why he was here, sprawled on the cushions that littered the floor, but he was not in uniform and was wearing the robes of a Vulcan trader. At the moment, however, he didn't particularly care because the nubile little slave girl who was his personal attendant tonight had brought him another flute of Romulan ale and had snuggled down close to his side to await his further bidding. On stage, two Andorian women were just finishing a session of mutual stimulation, their antennae entwining together sensuously.

The two Klingons who were sitting next to Spock pounded their little serving table enthusiastically while the Ferengi and the Humans present clapped and whistled. A Tellarite merchant made a grunt/snort noise of appreciation as the girls left the stage.

The club proprietor, a fat Rigellian dressed in garish silks and satins, came on stage and addressed his clients. "I thank you for your exuberance, gentles. Now I have a special treat for you as the ... ahem ... climax—" He chuckled suggestively. "—of the evening. I have procured one of those famous — and infamous — Orion animal women and she will perform for your enjoyment. To add to your pleasure, she will be allowed to choose a partner from the audience to join her on stage."

That brought a roar of drunken approval from the Klingons, who banged their mugs of blood wine loudly on the table.

"The rest of you can go home!" shouted the captain. "Once she sees the blade of a Klingon, she will think there is no one else here but suckling boys!" He and his lieutenant guffawed and downed another hardy swallow of wine.

The proprietor continued, "Now remember, gentle beings, it will be _her_ choice! Do not be insulted if she does not choose you!" He cast a nervous glance at the Klingons. "Like all beings, she has her own personal tastes. To salve your hurt feelings, however—" Again he chuckled meaningfully. "—the rest of our performers will move among you and will be at your disposal. Now — let the revels begin!"

He clapped his hands together once and moved back into the shadows. In his place, two of the male performers, naked, well-built Humans, rolled a force-cage onto the stage in which crouched the wild-haired figure of a green Orion woman. As the cage reached the center of the platform, she stood, revealing her long, lithe body, clad only in the pelt of some golden spotted animal, loosely tied around her hips. Startling blue eyes made a sharp contrast with her verdant skin and jet black hair, finely arched brows like birds' wings accenting the azure of their depths. Her full breasts hung free, adorned with fetish objects that dangled from her large, dark, pierced nipples. Streaked down her abdomen, following the curve of her body, were painted lines, all ending ultimately in the thick tangle of black hair at her pubic region.

The two male dancers did a turn around the force cage to the beat of a low, commanding rhythm track, thrusting their pelvises in the woman's direction in sexual display, teasing her. She was like an animal, following their movements, her eyes hungrily on their actions, almost salivating to get at them. Then one of the men suddenly flipped a switch on the cage's base and the force field was gone.

The Orion woman leaped away from the cage and landed in the spotlight, hunkered down, feral and uncontrollable, her gaze sweeping over each member of the audience. As she did so, the dancers quietly removed the cage from the background and melted back into the darkness.

Exotic, compelling music began and the woman began to move to it, her tall, muscular body bending into patterns that seemed impossible, each more blatantly sexual than the last. The pelt did nothing to hide the secret areas of her body and finally it fell away altogether, leaving her naked but for her painted adornments and jewelry.

The tempo of the music picked up and now she really went to work, writhing on the floor, stroking and fondling herself, beginning to dance specifically for certain members of the audience. Turning her attention to the Klingons, she slithered toward them on her belly, growling low in her throat, baring her teeth in a snarl. The captain responded with delight, growling back and reaching down to open the front of his trousers, releasing a massive scaled phallus for her inspection. Not to be outdone, his lieutenant did the same and they both rumbled with laughter and encouragement as the green woman slunk to kneel before them, rubbing her face back and forth against the huge erections, purring and moaning as her already intense arousal built up.

The captain finally grabbed a handful of black hair and pulled her head up toward him, stabbing his gigantic organ against her lips. "Open your mouth, slut," he ground out roughly, "if you want it that bad."

He made to shove himself between her teeth but the Orion had other ideas. She bit him, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to get her point across. Hissing and spitting, she jerked away and scurried back, blue eyes blazing. The Klingon lieutenant howled with glee at the surprised and outraged expression on his captain's face, but defused the situation by pumping his own erection with a leather-gloved fist and saying something in Klingonese that made the captain erupt in raucous laughter as well.

"She's too skinny anyway!" the captain declared loudly to the room. "I need a _real_ woman who can take me all the way!" He drained his mug of blood wine and turned to his male servant. "Why is this empty?! More!!"

The rest of the clientele of the club joined in the laughter and turned their attention back to the lush woman before them.

Spock did not laugh with the others, but deep down felt satisfaction that the Orion dancer had rejected the crude Klingon's brutality. He was becoming aware of a definite stirring in his own body as he watched her. There was something about her that was shoving aside his Vulcan restraints and generating a heat within his gut.

She had moved toward three Humans who were sitting together, undulating in a provocative manner, squatting and spreading her legs to show her genitals, running her fingers down herself and then licking her fingers with relish. Inspired by the Klingons, one of the men, a big, bearded spacer, stood up and unbuckled his pants, letting them drop, exposing a thick, upright erection. "Here, baby," he grinned. "You don't like Klingon — try suckin' this down that hot throat of yours."

The woman reached to caress him, then leaned closer and dragged her tongue full over the purple head.

The man's cohorts crowed in delight. "Jerk him off, baby!"

She suddenly grasped the man's testicles with both hands and raked her long, claw-like nails over them and up the shaft and across the glans. The spacer yelped and fell backwards onto the cushions. The woman also leaped back out of reach, licking her lips and growling. The spacer was hurriedly inspecting himself but she hadn't even drawn blood. She knew exactly what she was doing to them. She was a wild animal and she was dangerous game.

Downing another long swallow of Romulan ale, Spock watched in amusement. The woman was a real professional. He let a slow smile pull at his lips as he watched her, the heat within him continuing to grow.

The dancer noticed his intense gaze and the enraptured expression and turned to Spock with an athletic, sensuous move. Suddenly she seemed both very Vulcan and very alien at once. More than that, she seemed familiar, her body strong and tall, long-legged and clean-limbed, and built to be wrapped around his. She did a smooth roll and came up right in his face, staring directly and challengingly into his eyes.

The high-cheek-boned face and classically sculpted features came into abrupt focus for the Vulcan's liquor-fogged mind.

The Orion slave dancer was Christine!

Spock closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Of course this wasn't Christine, he told himself, but when he opened his eyes once more, it was still his wife's face and body that swam before him. His confusion delighted her, as did the bulge he could not hide at the front of his robe. Eagerly, she reached to caress him, pushing him back onto the cushions and almost ripping the folds of cloth apart in her zeal.

The other club patrons were cheering her on. "Fuck him, baby!" "Hey, I hear they can only get it up once every seven years!" "Better get that green cock in that green pussy before it's too late!"

The robe opened and she had her hands immediately inside, grasping him, stroking him, leaning over him with her eyes locked on his. Before he could react, she was kissing him, her tongue shoved between his lips, hot and wanton, her taste oh-so-familiar in his mouth. This close, the scent of her skin overwhelmed him and its primal, earthy redolence triggered a response in him that had been simmering from the moment he had laid eyes on her.

Without thinking, he reached up to grip her shoulders and kissed her back, his own tongue pushing back against hers. His erection in her hands, his blood burst into flame in his veins, consuming him with a blast of sexual need that he had only felt a few times before in his life, when the ancient drive had taken control of his mind and body. The sordid surroundings of the club, the lewd shouts, the very air he breathed ceased to exist save for the woman — his mate — hovering above him.

Her sapphire eyes narrowed and her emerald cheeks pulled into a cunning smile. With a seductive purr, she drew away from him and retreated to the stage, lying back on a chaise that had appeared there. Dazed, mesmerized, his blood thundering in his ears, Spock rose from the cushions and followed her onto the spot-lighted dais, heedless of anything but the his wife lying hot and ready to receive him.

* * *

Spock snapped awake, drenched with sweat, feeling as if he had a solid primasite pipe protruding from his groin. Gasping, he tried to move so that the pressure there was eased, but it was to no avail. He was swelled so tight as to be in real pain, stretched to his very limit. He _had_ to have relief.

"Christine!" he whispered, waking her. "Please! I need — I _must_ be inside you!" It was nearly a sob and already he was scrambling atop her.

Startled but still too groggy to comprehend fully what he was saying, Christine tried to stop him. "Wait — give me a few moments—"

"I cannot!" The pressure was too much. He couldn't stand it. He had to be in her _now_!

He thrust and tried to enter her, but despite their earlier lovemaking she was too dry. His frantic jab was blocked at her entrance. It didn't matter. The minute his distended member came into contact with her opening, he turned loose with a helpless cry. He had lost control over it. The hot ejaculate lubed and softened her and, before the last pulse had pumped from his helpless body, he was buried to the hilt within her, still thrusting in a mad frenzy, still as hard as ever.

Too stunned to even protest, Christine clutched at his body and hung on. He gasped and came again — and again found no relief. He had to get deeper, had to pound his way into the very core of her womanhood. His breath sobbing in his throat, he began to thrust again.

"No!" gasped Christine and shoved at his shoulders. He was beginning to hurt her as she felt the head of his massive erection punching against the barrier of her cervix.

Instead of stopping, his right hand came up and locked onto her face, a steel grip she could not break. And suddenly he was in her mind and she was in his — and they were both on a stage in some lurid brothel, about to perform before a hooting, cheering crowd of drunken, aroused and completely out-of-control alien men.

* * *

Christine found herself in a nightmarish scenario she had never imagined possible. She was lying on a chaise lounge with a spotlight focused on her naked, sweating — and _green!_ — body. Spock was standing at the foot of the chaise, dressed only in an open Vulcan robe and sporting an impressive erection. His eyes were fixed intently on hers and there was a glazed, slightly mad quality to them that frightened her.

The noise was deafening. Exotic music throbbed loudly and all around them, males of several different races — Human, Klingon, Ferengi, Tellarite — were yelling and cheering, working themselves into a frenzy as naked slaves, both male and female, began to join them on the cushions covering the floor. The air was thick with incense and drug fumes, body scents and other odors her dizzy brain could not identify. It was all combining to turn her stomach.

Christine's eyes moved back to Spock and saw that he was no longer alone either. Two alien girls were disrobing him while a third had gone down on her knees before him, her intent plain. To her horror, Christine watched as the other two joined her in fondling him erotically, their hands and lips trailing over every part of his nude body. Still he remained stock still, staring at Christine with unblinking fierceness.

"Spock!" she said pleadingly and reached out to him.

At once he moved forward, brushing aside the girls who were fawning over him. Frantically, they scrambled to keep up with him, to continue their stroking and nuzzling, but he was focused only on Christine. Without hesitation, he shoved her legs wide and crawled up onto the chaise between them.

"Spock," Christine begged him again. "Wake up! This isn't real!"

He didn't answer except to slide his hands underneath her buttocks and lift her higher to meet him, and then, with a hard lunge, he was within her.

The cheers from the audience reached a new peak as he began pounding into her, his fevered eyes locked onto hers. She reached up and grasped his face, shocked at the heat radiating from his skin. He was burning up inside, his face flushing a vivid green that almost matched the hue of her own Orion skin.

"Spock! Wake up! You're caught in a dream of some sort!" Still he didn't respond save to hoist himself up farther, going even deeper in his single-minded compulsion to mate. Desperate, Christine moved her hands up to cover his ears and pinched the tips of both as hard as she could.

"Ahh!!" Spock jerked back and winced as the pain registered, but he was too deep within whatever bizarre delirium had triggered this nightmare. Instead of stopping, their surroundings changed abruptly.

Christine was still lying on a chaise lounge, Spock still coupling with her frenetically, but they were no longer in the sex club. Instead, their environs were that of a perverted vision of Greco-Roman architecture. Columns rose from marbled floors and the sounds of a lyre permeated the air. But they were still on a stage, still performing for an appreciative audience, and the sense of violation was still all too real.

Horrified, Christine knew where they were — and she didn't need to turn her head to know that the soft grunting sound and muffled cries coming from her right were emanating from Jim and Nyota, being forced to copulate to the tune of Parmen's sadistic directions. _It never happened, it never happened, it never happened!_ she decreed to herself, but still it went on and on.

"Not here, Spock!" she whimpered finally, clutching at the Vulcan desperately. "This is worse than the other place! Please — not here!!"

"No..." his tortured voice came against her ear. "No ... This ... isn't ... right..."

With a supreme effort that she could feel through their bondlink, he pulled them from this memory and into another, one deep from his subconscious.

Heat assailed her — dry, dusty, oven-like — and thin, sharp air that cut into her lungs as she tried to inhale made her cough and gasp to breathe. Beneath her was a bed of yielding sand, sparkling with shards of bright quartz and mica, like a hot plate burning into her naked skin. Overhead was an open sky the color of ripe tangerines and all around them was a ring of standing stones, like Stonehenge but more ancient, more alien. More ... Vulcan.

Suddenly she knew this place, too. Spock had brought them to his family's place of _koon-ut-kali-fi_ , to the Place of Marriage or Challenge. Leonard had described it to her that time when Spock had had to go home, when he'd been taken by—

" _Pon farr!_ " Christine exclaimed. "No! Spock, it isn't time!"

Spock somehow managed to stop himself, although he didn't uncouple from her, and shook his head violently. "It's not _pon farr_ ," he grated between clenched teeth. "I cannot understand— don't know what— Ahhh!"

Again, their surroundings morphed, this time to some place dark and quiet. Again the air was scented with incense, but this time it was pleasing, almost like sandalwood. Beneath them was a real bed, firm but comfortable, with a quilted red coverlet, the mattress so familiar as to make her think that she was not caught in a dream at all, but indeed had awoken from one, long, incredible one to find herself safe in her own cabin on the _Enterprise_. Only it was Spock's cabin they inhabited, for the walls of the bedchamber were hung with red velvet drapes, the ancient firepot smoldered on the shelf to one side, and the Vulcan _ka'athyra_ , the lyre, rested in its honored place nearby.

"Now," Spock whispered and caught her in an impassioned embrace, his mouth coming down on hers in a fiery kiss.

Christine slid her hands up over his back and pulled him to her, feeling him surrender once more to the blood fever that had inexplicably taken him. If he could only find relief in a dream setting, then this was one she was content to share. With a near sob, he threw himself back into the fervent coupling and she didn't interfere as she felt him finally reach the climax he had been so urgently seeking.

As he sagged weakly atop her, she held him close, and murmured again, "Wake up, my love. It's all over now. Wake up."

And they were suddenly back in the cave, in their disarrayed bedding, with Spock raising his head to peer groggily around him. He rolled off her and fell heavily onto his back, eyes closed, panting for breath. Christine sat up and leaned over him, concerned, for his body continued to radiate enormous heat.

"Spock, what's wrong with you?" she demanded softly, mindful of not waking the children in the new room next door. "You're on fire!"

He only moaned. "So hot..." he wheezed and then doubled over coughing. When it had eased, he whispered, "Water. Need water... my throat..."

Hurriedly Christine rose from their bed, bruised and bleeding from the fierce intercourse she had just endured, and retrieved the water skin from its peg on the wall. Spock gulped thirstily, then a chill seemed to take him. Shivering violently, he turned onto his side, pulling the furs up about his neck.

Christine's medical instincts all kicked into high gear. Without further ado, she put her night clothes back on and went to stoke up the fire in the hearth, already mentally going over her meager pharmacopeia, hoping she had something at hand that would heal whatever illness Spock was suffering. She didn't hold out much hope of a miracle cure.

* * *

Spock's fever raged for three days, sometimes ebbing, then soaring back to a level that would have killed a Human. By the time his fever broke, both Jenny and Sapel had it, not quite so badly as their father — either the illness did not effect Humans as severely as Vulcans or the kids were simply more resistant — and then it hit Christine as well.

All four of them were sleeping in the same bedding area by this time, for Christine was too ill to get up more than she had to and this way her three patients were all housed in one place. When Spock recovered enough to take over some of the nursing duties, she collapsed into her own bout of sickness and lay in a burning stupor as the fever ran its course.

There was no medicine to fight it. What little she'd had was gone, used in the first two days of Spock's illness. All she could do was bathe her children's flushed, burning bodies, try to get liquids down them, and treat the symptoms as best she could.

Somehow she managed to keep the fire going and a pot of soup simmering, but as she felt her own fever advancing, she was unable to do even this. The fire died to embers, the soup went cold and untended. All four lay in sweat-drenched delirium for a full day, shivering and huddling together, none of them able to assist any of the others.

Then Spock managed to drag himself out of his own sickbed and get the hearth blazing again. Slowly the cave warmed. He threw out the days-old broth, fetched water and set a new batch of stew cooking. Still weak but over the worst of it, Spock tended to his wife and children the best way he could, sponging them down, feeding them sips of broth with trembling hands, frequently collapsing as his limited energy gave out.

It was nearly two weeks before the fever had totally gone, leaving all four of them slow to recover from its effects. Spring was in full bloom now and the family was enjoying their first day of really warm weather, soaking up the sun and its rejuvenating heat. All were wan and thin from their ordeal, but the children were recovering fast. Today Sapel and T'Jenn were fishing in the pond, hoping to catch enough to add some much needed fresh protein to their limited diets. Food stocks were running low and it was still too early in the year to offer much in the way of plants or returning animals.

As Spock and Christine sat reclining in the sun, leaning back against the side of the cave wall, she looked speculatively at him and asked, "Feel like talking?"

"Yes."

"What happened a couple of weeks ago?" she inquired. "With that weird dream, I mean."

He was silent for quite some time, considering his answer. When he spoke, it was in the form of a question for her. "Christine, were you ovulating when that happened?"

Surprised, she answered, "No, I don't think so. Maybe. I'm not sure. Why?"

"I believe you were ... and it triggered that response in me," he responded, his gaze faraway.

"You've never had a reaction like that before," she protested. "Why now?"

"It must have been the fever. I was becoming ill but didn't know it," he said. "Somehow, your pheromones combined with that condition to generate a sort of pseudo- _pon farr_."

"But where in the world did that dream come from?" she demanded. "You can't possibly have ever been to such a place!"

He was silent again, then answered ruefully, "In fact, I have, Christine."

"What?!"

"Jim and I were on a secret assignment for the Federation Council. We were gathering information on the Orion slave trade and we were sent in as a couple of outlaw traders interested in getting involved and opening new markets. There were others there, too, bidding for the ... um ... franchise. That club was part of the entertainment our host furnished for his ... investors."

"Was it really that bad?" Christine asked, wide-eyed with horror.

Spock looked away. "Worse. Be thankful that my dream did not include the part when they brought the children in."

Christine felt sick at her stomach and knew the color had drained from her face. "Oh, my God..." she whispered. "Spock, you _didn't_ —"

"Of course not! But I had to watch and be sure I remembered so that I could give a full report when I returned." His face had hardened into a mask of stone. "I hope never again to witness anything that vile as long as I live."

They did not speak for a few minutes, then she asked, "Did you ... did you really go ... go up on the stage?"

"No, that was merely part of the dream. But others did ... and I had to watch that as well." His brows furrowed in supreme disgust.

"Jim?"

Spock shook his head. "No. He played at being far too drunk, but he _did_ have sex during the ensuing orgy."

Christine's blue eyes were misted with tears as she asked softly, "Did you?"

Her husband turned to gaze at her and the mahogany of his eyes were rich and sad and filled with pain. Taking her hand, he answered honestly, "Yes. The slave attendant you saw in my dream. She was real. I had no choice but to play my role to the fullest. To refuse to join in would have caused too much suspicion and blown our cover. We would not have been allowed to escape alive."

A tear rolled down her cheek but she nodded. "I understand. I know you did what your duty required." Then her eyebrows lowered. "I hope you nailed that sorry bastard running the place. The slave trader."

"No. Ours was simply part of an ongoing investigation. It is still going on, as far as I know. The slave trade goes far beyond a few buyers and sellers on non-Federation worlds. It will be years yet before the Federation is ready to shut it down. They are working to find the kingpins, the financiers who profit. The ones supplying the ships and the safe ports." He shook his head. "We will not see its end in our lifetimes."

Christine had a sudden revelation. "That's why you were so anxious to get us away from the crashed Romulan ship and why you destroyed it. You said you were afraid we'd been found by slavers."

He gazed at her solemnly. "I would kill all of us before I would see our children made into sex slaves on some perverted stage. I will never allow us to be taken, Christine. _Never_."

* * *

Spock and Sapel stepped in out of the rain and doffed their sopping elk-hide ponchos, hanging them on pegs hammered into the wall of the cave.

"Any luck?" asked Christine from the hearth, where she was baking flatbread on the cooking stone.

Spock wrung water out of his hair and shook his head. "No. It is raining too hard to hunt today. The plains are very nearly flooded."

"Yeah, and we saw a tree get hit by lightning!" Sapel added, squeezing water from his braids.

"That is the main reason I gave up on a hunt today," his father confirmed. "This storm was developing into quite a dangerous one."

"I've never seen such weather," Christine commented, flipping a tortilla over to bake on its other side. "Every day — thunderstorms and rain!"

"I suspect this planet's jet stream has shifted from its usual path," Spock answered from the bedding area, peeling off his wet clothing and snatching up a chamois towel to dry himself. "That would account for the instability in the atmosphere."

"Sapel, get out of those clothes and into some dry ones!" Christine ordered. "You're dripping all over my floor."

"Ah, I'm not so wet, Ma," the boy complained.

"Scoot!"

Sapel disappeared through the doorway to the other room and his mother turned back to her cooking, gingerly removing the now done flatbread from the griddle to a plate, then pouring more batter out to cook.

Spock came up behind her, dressed in dry leggings and loin cloth, and bent to snatch the newly cooked bread before Christine could swat his hand. He mollified her with a quick peck on the cheek, then straightened, tearing the hot bread apart and popping pieces of it into his mouth. T'Jenn came and clung to his leg, reaching up and begging for a piece. Spock obligingly gave her one that had cooled a bit and smiled as his little daughter stuffed it in her mouth.

"Are you feeling any better?" Spock asked his wife, tearing off another piece of bread for Jenny.

Christine flipped the tortilla on the griddle. "Yes. Breakfast just didn't sit well, that's all. I feel fine."

Spock eyed her surreptitiously but didn't pursue the subject. Sapel reappeared in dry clothing and appropriated a hot cake, too. "Sapel and I must hunt tomorrow, regardless of the weather," Spock commented, still standing.

"Oh, sit down! I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you," Christine said. "All of you. We might as well eat. It's ready."

Her tall husband folded his long legs into lotus position and the children plopped down as well. For the next few minutes, the woman dished up stew and bread and the family dug in.

"As I was saying," Spock continued between bites, "our larder is quite low. We have no choice, rain or shine, but to bag some sort of game tomorrow."

"'S okay with me," Sapel replied, sopping up stew with a piece of bread. "I don't care if I get wet."

"Obviously," his father answered. "But I believe we can accomplish our task before the afternoon rain, if the weather holds to this pattern."

Ever since spring had begun turning to summer, a rhythm had developed in the daily weather. High humidity combined with already oppressive heat to make for muggy, uncomfortable days. As the afternoon wore on and the temperature rose, tall cumulus began to build, the towers soaring up where thermals pushed the hot moist air into the colder upper atmosphere. By late afternoon, these combined into towering thunderheads that punched their way up into the supercooled air of the stratosphere, where high level winds blew their tops into fast streaming anvils, gradually dissipating as their water droplets glaciated into ice crystals. But behind and below the leading edges of the storms, the towers continued to build, adding stored energy and moisture to the mountainous clouds. Eventually, the saturation level was reached and, with a rumble of thunder and cold downdraft, the thunderheads would release their load in torrential rains. Lightning and hail often accompanied the downpours as the storm poured out its stored energy.

Most frightening of all was when the thunderstorms melded into supercells and began to rotate slowly, driven by fierce upper level winds. The mesocyclones this created often produced funnel clouds and actual tornados, most small and short-lived, but at other times giving birth to real monsters. The family had twice taken shelter when these lethal horrors had come too close for comfort. Fortunately, the twisters had by-passed them, but Spock and Christine always kept a watchful eye and attentive ear during the storms that daily ravaged the high plains.

This afternoon's storm, however, was not so severe. Besides the rain, lightning and accompanying thunder, it showed no sign of dropping a tornado. Snug inside their cave home, the family enjoyed their evening meal.

There was a scramble and Scruffy hurtled through the doorway, soaked. She paused and gave a pathetic meow, then shook herself furiously, sending water flying in all directions.

"Hey!" exclaimed Sapel, who was sitting closest to the door.

"I thought you didn't mind getting wet," Christine smiled, her blue eyes crinkled in mirth.

"But I just got dried off!"

Finished shaking herself, the hunting cat did indeed resemble her name, her fur tufted and sticking out in all directions. She moved closer to the fire and set about giving herself a good grooming with her rasping tongue.

"When's her kittens due, huh, Mama?" Sapel asked, noting Scruffy's swollen belly.

"Any time now I should think." Christine's practiced eye roved over the mother cat, nothing the swollen mammaries that made her pouch protrude. Like many of the animals on this planet, Scruffy was a marsupial, although she carried her young internally to a more advanced state than did Earth marsupials. And she was the farthest thing from a possum or kangaroo anyone would imagine. She more resembled a beautiful serval cat with golden fur liberally spotted with black and tufts of black fur on her large ears.

This would be Scruffy's third litter. Early each spring, her previous year's brood, now grown, was driven away to fend for themselves and Scruffy would search out her mate. About two months later, two or three tiny spotted kittens would appear and the cycle would begin again.

"Do you think she'll go off again to have 'em?" Sapel questioned as he watched his pet lick her gleaming fur back into place.

"Probably," Christine responded. "But it would be nice if she decided to give birth here so you kids could see what a miracle it is." The woman smiled dreamily and said, almost to herself, "Gee, it will be nice to have babies around the place again."

Spock let an eyebrow rise just a bit as he watched his wife appraisingly, but he said nothing except, "Is there any more stew?"

* * *

As she began to gut the bush pig that Spock and Sapel had bagged, the smell of blood abruptly made Christine's stomach lurch and rebel. She barely made it away from the butchering block before she doubled over and retched violently. It kept up until there was nothing left to heave and by then Spock was there, supporting her.

When she had gained control of herself once more, he wiped her face with a wet cloth and had her rinse her mouth with a cup of water that Sapel had fetched. The boy and his little sister stood some distance away, both worried and silent. T'Jenn especially had never seen her mother in this condition and she tugged at her brother's long, fringed loin cloth. "Mama sick?" she asked in concern.

"Yes. Shhhh..." Sapel answered, his dark eyes locked on his parents.

"Take another sip," Spock was softly directing his wife. "Slowly. Just a little."

Christine nodded and complied, then wiped her face and streaming eyes again. "I'm okay," she murmured. "Must've been the heat."

"You will go and lie down immediately," Spock ordered, his arm around her shoulders, steering her toward a grassy area beneath one of the big trees, where the day's heat was abated somewhat by the shade and a cool breeze.

"Really, I'm okay," she protested.

"Rest. Now." There was no leeway in Spock's voice. He did not pause until she was stretched out in the sweet grass with a rolled blanket underneath her head as a pillow.

Christine sighed. "This is silly. I'm perfectly fine! It was the heat and the smell, that's all."

Spock sat back on his heels and gazed down at her. " _T'hy'la_ , you _know_ what it is," he said quietly. "You know as well as I do."

Christine's chin suddenly quivered a bit and she looked away from him as tears filled her eyes. "I was trying to make myself believe it wasn't," she answered finally. "I don't want another baby, Spock. I'm 43 now. At least I think I am. How am I going to care for another baby when it's so hard just to keep one ... alive—" Her voice broke as the memories of her lost children flooded back.

Spock pulled her up into his arms and she clung to him and cried. Stroking her hair, he told her softly, "We will manage as we have always managed ... one day at a time. That is all we can do. And you know you are not alone, beloved. I will be with you until my dying breath."

Christine shook her head, her wet face nestled against his warm, bare chest. That didn't necessarily make her feel any better.

* * *

Taking a rest and their mid-day meal in the shade of a scrubby tree, Spock and Sapel gazed out over the plains at the herds dozing in the afternoon heat. Thermal shimmer and dust made them indistinct, hazy black dots and smudges in the distance. Other predators would be lying up at this time of day and the grazers were relaxed, knowing they were safe until later in the day. Hardly anything moved during the highest temperatures of the afternoon. They would not be expecting the two-legged predators that would soon begin stalking them.

For the moment, however, those predators were taking their ease as well. The pair were silent as they ate their meal of jerky and journey bread. It was Sapel who broke the quiet.

"Papa?" he asked. "What's wrong with Mama?"

"Your mother is expecting a baby," Spock answered. "Women are often ill during the first part of their pregnancy."

Sapel contemplated this for a moment then commented, "Animals aren't sick when they're carrying. Why's Mama?"

"We don't know that animals aren't. We do not see them all the time," his father pointed out. "However, to answer your question, there are two reasons Mama is experiencing illness now. In Human gestation, there is a period while the placenta is forming that the female's body perceives the fetus as an alien, invading body and attempts to reject it. This is because the fetus contains the father's DNA which is, of course, different from the mother's. In Mama's case, it is complicated by the fact that I am half-Vulcan and it truly is alien DNA that her body is encountering in the fetus. Only the fact that my own DNA was genetically engineered to be compatible with Humans allows a viable fetus at all."

Sapel sat without speaking for some time, chewing on both a hunk of jerky and this long, confusing speech. He didn't know what DNA was nor did he really understand all that his father had said. At length, though, he ventured, "You mean, it's like if a horse tried to mate with a plains-deer?"

"No, more like if a plains-deer attempted to mate with a forest deer. If your mother and I were too different, we could not produce a child. It is very complicated, Sapel. I don't expect you to comprehend it." Spock glanced at his son, smiling slightly. "Just accept the fact that Mama and I are compatible and able to have children together."

There was another long period of silence then, his gaze not wavering from the far plains, Sapel said, "Papa? Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"When you and Mama ... when you're in bed ... what's it like?"

Spock nearly choked on the food he was swallowing and had to take a drink from the water bag to get it down. Then he turned a long, appraising look on his son and felt a lump in his stomach that had nothing to do with the half-chewed food. It was time, he realized, for The Talk with Sapel. Gathering his thoughts, he took another swig of water, then began:

"You are growing up, Sapel. You have already gone through your _kahs'wan_ and it will not be long before you will experience your Awakening ... puberty, as Humans call it. Do you know what that is?" Sapel shrugged, indicating an uncertain negative. "It is when your body becomes capable of sexual activity and your reproductive organs mature enough that you are physically capable of intercourse and even siring a child."

Sapel didn't answer, but his dark, upswept brows began to come together in a frown as he digested this.

Spock went on, "You have probably already begun to notice changes in your body. Your penis and testicles are getting bigger and you are getting hair that hasn't been there before ... in your groin area, your chest, under your arms. You have not yet begun to grow facial hair, but that will come as well. Your voice will deepen and you will grow taller and more broad in the chest and shoulders."

Sapel nodded. "Yeah ... some of that is happening," he said.

Spock nodded as well. "You will also begin to experience erections of your penis."

The boy looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. I am already. Like ...lLike when I hear you and Mama ... you know ... at night sometimes."

Spock felt the lump in his stomach harden. "I should have guessed that you could hear us," he admitted faintly. "I am sorry, Sapel."

"It's all right," his son said hurriedly. "I know not to listen."

Spock sighed. "But you cannot help but hear. There is so little privacy the way we are forced to live." He took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, there is little we can do about privacy except close our eyes and ears and imagine a wall that blocks out such things."

"I know. I do. But now and then ... it's hard not to..."

Father and son sat without speaking for a few minutes then Spock went on, "When you have an erection, what is your response?"

Sapel looked away. "I touch it sometimes. It feels good when I do."

"And do you ejaculate?"

"Huh?" The boy didn't understand the word.

"Does fluid come out of your penis? Other than urine, I mean."

"Not really. Sometimes a little but usually I just feel like I've got to pee real bad and, after it's not so hard anymore, the feeling sort of goes away."

Spock nodded once again and pulled up a blade of grass, methodically shredding it with his thumb nails. "When your Awakening occurs, you will experience ejaculation. It will feel somewhat like you are urinating after holding it a long time — it will be a release of tension — but what will come is semen, not urine. It will be white and thick and may spurt out rather forcefully. Do not be alarmed, however. This is normal."

"Is that what happens to you?"

"Yes. Semen is a special fluid that contains sperm, the cells that are the male's half of the reproduction process. If ejaculation occurs within a female's body, she may become pregnant as a result."

Sapel thought about that. "But you and Mama ... do it a lot," he said. "Why don't you have more kids than Jenn and me? And the baby?"

"Conception does not occur every time," his father replied. "The female must have produced an egg cell deep within her body and the sperm must reach and join with it. Even then, most of the time, a baby does not result."

"I don't understand..."

"Again, it is quite complicated, _cha'i_. It would take longer to explain than we have today." Spock looked out onto the plains and then to the sky, where the day's cumulus were building and thickening. "We need to resume our hunt."

"Papa? Can I ask you one more question?"

"Yes."

Sapel swallowed hard. "Mama is your mate, isn't she?"

"Yes."

The boy turned anguished eyes on his father. "Papa, who's gonna be _my_ mate?!" he burst out. "There aren't any females of our kind except Mama and Jenn! Is Jenny my mate?"

It was the question Spock had been dreading and he knew of no way to soften his reply. "I don't know, Sapel," he answered with a tight throat. "I do not have any answers to that. In the vast majority of cultures in this galaxy, a man is absolutely forbidden to engage in a sexual relationship with a close blood relative — his sister or daughter or mother, for example. It is called incest and has been forbidden since recorded history began on my world and your mother's. However, there have been instances of brother-sister marriage, but they are very rare and generally considered an abomination." He sighed heavily. "I cannot foresee our future, Sapel. Just know that until there is absolutely no other choice — none whatsoever — your sister is forbidden to you. She is taboo. Untouchable. Do not even entertain the vaguest thought of her as a possible mate. Is that clear?"

Sapel's face was burning and he looked at the ground, ashamed. "I wouldn't, Papa. I _don't_! I just didn't know."

"I understand, _cha'i_." Spock laid a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed. "Come. We need to hunt and get home before it rains. You may have first shot honors today."

Sapel brightened a little and got to his feet, gathering his bow and quiver and slinging his back pouch over his shoulders.

His tall father beside him, the young hunter set off at a jog toward the distant herds.

* * *

Summer heat had become the dominant factor in the family's life. It was early August now, as they reckoned the seasons, and, although the clouds still built daily into towering cumulus, rain rarely fell anymore. Brief, late afternoon downbursts might darken the plains for a short time, but it was generally short-lived and very localized.

The lush grasses of the rolling plains were still green, but hints of yellow were beginning to appear as the ground dried and spring's rains were forgotten.

Christine paused in her work beneath the big trees that sheltered her tanning frames and wiped the sweat from her face. Even in the shade, the heat was oppressive. It added to the general discomfort she felt constantly, for her nausea had not gone away as she entered the sixth month of her pregnancy. Instead, it had subsided to a dull companion that sapped her strength and diminished her ability to do the work that was essential to their survival. She was forced to move carefully and with deliberation, lest the nausea rear up and send her stomach lurching into a spasm of illness.

Thankfully, today, her body was relatively subdued, a fact that allowed her to sit cross‑legged before the hide stretched across the frame and methodically run the knob end of an elk femur over its surface, gently breaking down the sinews and turning the pelt into soft, pliable leather. It had come from a delicately marked antelope, its red coat overlain with muted gold stripes.

Christine had in mind a tunic for herself, a little reward for getting through the hardships of the previous year. At the moment she was dressed in her usual summer attire of halter and breechclout, but this fall the beautiful hide would be perfect.

Spock and Sapel had been away the entire day, hunting. While game was still plentiful, the herds had begun to drift to the south where the big river promised more certain water than the creeks and ponds that had begun to dry as the summer progressed. Even the creek that flowed through their valley was low, although they'd never known it to run dry, being spring-fed above the little waterfall. Still, Christine could tell that the water level in the pond had fallen by several inches.

Beside her, T'Jenn murmured and turned over in her asleep, napping on a ground blanket, clad only in a little loin cloth. At three years old, the child was growing up so fast, Christine reflected, that she could scarcely remember the baby she had been.

It brought a pang to her heart. Sapel was approaching adolescence and would soon be a man in his own right. How had the years flown so fast?

Closing her eyes, Christine savored the quiet of the summer afternoon. In the trees all around the homesite, inch long insects that resembled cicadas were rhythmically buzzing out their mating calls. It reminded her of home on Earth when she was a child, chasing fireflies and watching tadpoles in the stream behind her grandparents' barn. Looking down at Jenny, she wondered what memories her own children would take with them when they were grown ... what memories this new baby would keep in his or her old age.

Reflectively, Christine rubbed her hand over her abdomen, now beginning to show definite roundness, and her thoughts turned to darker avenues. This pregnancy drained her more than her previous ones had done. She hadn't been able to decide if it was because of her age — she calculated she was now 43 or 44 — or if there was truly something wrong that had not yet manifested itself. As a nurse, Christine was well aware of how many things could go awry in a pregnancy and she could not forget that she and Spock had both come down with a virulent fever immediately after this baby's conception. Had it harmed the child? her mind demanded of her. What if the fetus within her was abnormal, deformed by some awful consequence of the fever, developing life threatening birth defects? How could she survive the heartbreak if it were?

The thought had plagued her for weeks. Sometimes at night, as she lay awake, too tense to sleep, medical textbooks babbled endlessly through her head, ticking off complication after complication, each one in graphic, clinical detail, more horrible than the last, until she could barely keep from digging her fingers into her brain and screaming for surcease. Spock seemed to sense her anxiety and often turned in his sleep, gathering her to him, radiating comfort and reassurance. It helped her get through the night and that's all she could ask, she supposed. He didn't seem to share her disquiet, however, and she could not help but wonder at his complacency.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard Spock and Sapel come splashing across the creek, returning from their hunt.

Each had the gutted body of a half-grown _mesohippus_ slung across their shoulders and were tired, dirty and streaked with blood. Dumping the carcasses near the butchering area, the man and boy stretched the kinks out of their backs and came to where Christine was struggling to her feet. Spock reached a hand to help her and asked, "Trouble getting up already?"

"No," his wife answered. "I've just been sitting cross-legged too long. I'm stiff!" She lifted her face up to exchange a light kiss then commented, "I see hunting was good."

"Yes, but we had to go over five miles to find the herd," Spock replied, wiping his hand over his grimy face. "They are usually in this area most of the summer." He swallowed and worked his tongue for a second. "Is there any water drawn? We are rather parched."

"Of course." She surveyed her exhausted, bedraggled men and said, "You two go up to the cave and get out of those filthy clothes and then go take a swim. Jenny and I will bring some lunch down to the pond and join you."

She glanced down at her little daughter who had awoken and was sitting up, looking cranky at having had her nap interrupted. Spock quirked up an eyebrow and replied, "T'Jenn looks as if she would rather sleep."

"Oh, she's been asleep for two hours already. It's time she got up. Go on now."

Obediently, the two foot-sore hunters headed for the cave and Christine finished what she was doing. Jenny took a moment to grump her way out of the dregs of sleep, whimpering a bit, but not really working up to a real crying bout before her mother headed her off.

"Want to get some lunch, sweetie?" Christine asked. "Then you and Bubba can go for a swim after a while. How about that?"

Jenn brightened a bit. "Wanna go swimmin'," she agreed.

"All right. After you eat and then let it settle. Come on."

Mother and daughter followed the boys and soon the whole family was enjoying a picnic on the banks of the pond. The waterfall spilled its little stream over the lip of the rock rim and cascaded into the pool ten feet below, the sound soothing to the ear and the spray cooling to the skin. It was too inviting to ignore for long.

"Mama, can't we swim yet?" Sapel pleaded.

Christine pondered and finally said, "I guess you've waited long enough."

"Yippee!" The boy leaped to his feet and hit the water without further ado.

Jenny made to follow her brother, but Christine reached out and snagged her arm. "Hang on, missy." She stripped her little daughter's loin cloth off so the child could splash unfettered then turned her loose. Jenny squealed and rushed into the water too, as comfortable as a fish.

"Watch your sister!" Christine called to Sapel.

Spock stretched out and closed his eyes, clad only in his leather breechclout. Summer sun had bronzed his lean, solid body with a burnished patina and Christine took a moment to savor how beautiful he was. His muscles were sculpted with hard work, marked here and there with the lighter scars of old injuries, his chest and tight stomach rising and falling as he breathed easily in and out. Spread out on the ground about him, his long black hair formed a leonine mane and his chiseled face sported a slight beard and moustache, just enough to bring out his rugged features. He was so utterly masculine, she found it difficult to breathe.

Sensing her gaze on him, Spock opened his dark eyes and turned to peer at her quizzically. She smiled and lay down beside him. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"For the moment," she replied, returning to the here and now. "It comes and goes." Christine was silent then confided, "I'm worried, Spock. I've never been this sick before."

"It may just be your morning sickness hanging on," he answered.

"Maybe..."

"But you don't think so, do you?"

She bit her bottom lip and frowned. "Something doesn't feel right. I don't know what it is. I'm not experiencing any pain or bleeding, but this just doesn't ... _feel_ like it's supposed to. The only other time I've ever felt like this was with T'Larin."

Simultaneously their thoughts flashed back to the child they had lost at birth, snatched from her mother's arms by one of the ravenous creatures they called werewolves. The nightmare had never completely left either one of them and both knew that it had only been for Sapel's sake that either had found the strength to go on. That had been six years ago and the memory was as fresh as if it had happened the day before.

Spock reached to take his wife's hand. "Do you mean ... after...?" he ventured.

"No, no ... not that," she assured him. "During my pregnancy with her. It didn't feel quite right either. Not as bad as this, but sort of the same." She shook her head. "I'm not making any sense."

"Not entirely, no. Beloved, when I touch you, particularly at night when we are closest, I know that you are troubled but I do not sense anything physically amiss. Your body seems perfectly attuned to this pregnancy. If you like, I can do a deep mind meld and search for any problems, but I believe I will find nothing save a normal pregnancy."

Christine thought about it and decided there was no point in it. "No. If there is something wrong, what could we do about it? I don't want to spend the next couple of months driving myself nuts by agonizing over something I can't do anything about. I'm just going to do what my Granny always said. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I mean, I don't have a choice, do I?"

Spock stroked her cheek. "There is probably nothing to worry about, _t'hy'la_. You are simply experiencing the symptoms of pregnancy and the heat is exacerbating it. Come, let's swim and cool off. You will feel better once you do."

She let him pull her to her feet and tried to muster a smile for him, though her stomach tensed for a moment as she did so. For a second, she closed her eyes and concentrated on stilling the queasiness, then resolutely she waded into the water, hand in hand with her husband.

* * *

Thunder rumbled across the sere plains, the cool downdraft off the storm rippling the grasses into waves like a yellow sea. Spock faced into the wind and breathed in the rain-tinged breeze. Alone on the prairie, save for Scruffy and her trio of male cubs, the tall Vulcan watched the isolated thunderstorm gather strength, its base darkening to a deep bruised color. It was south of their valley, too far to generate any rain for them, but the breeze was refreshing after the hot, humid afternoon.

Spock had gone that morning to check traps laid along the river, a good eight mile hike that he accomplished in a long, ground-eating stride he favored when not hampered by the others. Sapel was back in camp, lamed by stepping on an inch-long thorn earlier in the week. He was still recuperating from having it cut out by his mother's practiced surgical skills. It wasn't a major procedure, but had the boy hobbling around with a bandaged foot and grumbling because he wasn't allowed to go swimming until the wound healed properly. Christine was not risking an infection from the pond water.

When Spock had started out that morning, Scruffy had apparently sensed where he was going, for she meowed to her cubs and the quartet bounded after him. Earlier that summer, she had disappeared for two weeks then turned back up with three tiny, fuzzy kittens in her pouch. All were males, visually identical but distinct in their personalities. As they grew, one became dominant, another subservient, and the third slightly daft, always getting into things. Christine named them Moe, Larry and Curly after a classic comedy team of the 20th century, whose ancient slapstick still brought laughter.

The cats had enjoyed the day, hunting bank burrowers along the river, feasting on the offal Spock tossed to them when he cleaned his catches, and the kittens chasing bugs and each other before succumbing to a nap in the shade when Spock rested and took his mid-day meal.

Now the day was wearing on and he was on his way home, his carryall stuffed with three rabbits and a couple of plump range hens. The thunder had caught him unawares and he turned to view the storm.

Lightning struck from the base several miles away and the rumble reached him a few seconds later. Twice more the brilliant display cracked, but Spock noted with his innate time sense that the thunder was taking a second or two longer each time to reach him. The storm was moving away from him. Unconcerned, he resumed his trudge homeward.

Coming up onto the high bluff above the cave, he cast his gaze back toward the south. The storm was dissipating in the light of the setting sun, a partial rainbow stretched across the dark blue sky, the high clouds painted mauve and purple.

Spock paused to appreciate the sight then noticed something else. Away to the south, there was smoke rising from the prairie, beginning to billow grayly into the evening sky. Lightning must have ignited grass fires, he realized. The fact did not bother him too much. The fire was at least ten miles away and on the far side of the river. It wouldn't reach them here.

The light fading as the sun sank behind the distant western mountains, Spock turned his back on the spectacle and made his way down the slope to the valley, where Christine had the supper fire going.

* * *

"Nothing," Spock sighed as he lay down on the blanket beside his wife. He and Sapel had come in well after dark from their latest hunting trip, begrimed with dust and ash, caked with sweat and exhausted beyond the ability to talk. A quick wash, a meal and as much water as they needed had gotten them to this point and Sapel was already snoring near the outdoor hearth near where T'Jenn was bedded down. The early September weather was still sweltering, far too hot to sleep inside the cave or sod house. For weeks they had made their beds outdoors to take advantage of the slight cooling breezes brought by the night temperatures.

Now, as Spock settled beside Christine, he spoke wearily, in hushed tones. "We found nothing at all," he sighed.

"Not even small game?" Christine could just make out his face in the dim light of the hearth, still glowing red. "No hares or diggers or grouse?"

"Not a thing." Spock ran his hand over his face and drew in a deep breath. "They've all moved south. Between the drought and the grass fires, all the herds have left the area. Sapel and I went nearly twenty miles. All we found was burned prairie and shriveled trees. We don't have a choice, Christine. We've got to migrate south as well."

"But..." Christine clamped her teeth against whatever she'd been about to say, but he knew her thoughts anyway.

Turning in the dark, he laid his large hand on her bulging abdomen and found her hand already resting there. She was seven months pregnant now and had not had an easy time of it. This pregnancy had made her ill as her previous ones had not. The pervasive queasiness had refused to let up and, as a result, she was gaunt and hollow-cheeked, dark circles underneath her eyes testifying to sleepless nights and uncomfortable days. And the summer had been brutally hot, sapping her strength even more.

While Spock did not mind the heat — in fact welcomed it — he knew that his wife and children suffered as day followed scorching day. He sympathized with her discomfort because he felt it through their bond link whenever they touched, but now he had no choice.

"I know you are ill," he said gently, "and I know it is still early in the year, but what else can we do? If we wait much longer, you will be unable to travel at all and I fear that our food will run out long before that. We will go at an easy pace, but go we must, _t'hy'la_. It is migrate or starve."

"I know," she whispered back unhappily. Beneath their hands, the baby kicked vigorously as if wanting to join in the conversation and Spock moved his fingers to rest over the bumping flesh of her belly.

Concentrating, his mind touched the nebulous, unformed mind beneath his hand. Something about it felt very familiar and he bent his focus deeper for a moment. Withdrawing from the light meld, he again caressed Christine's swollen stomach.

"The baby will not suffer," he told her. "She is strong and growing well."

"You believe it is a girl then?" Christine asked him.

"Very much so," he answered. "I cannot define it, but the ... feel of the infant's mind is female and I sense that her development is normal and healthy."

"Then why do I still feel so bad? This pregnancy has never felt quite right to me."

"I believe because this child is following the development of a Vulcan infant instead of a human," Spock answered. "Your body is fighting it, but all seems normal to me. There is no cause to worry."

"No, no cause at all," Christine answered in an ironic tone. "Just walking two hundred and fifty miles in the hottest, driest part of the year, hoping we find enough food and water along the way, and me expecting to give birth in about two months!" She smiled despite herself. "Spock, you are an optimist."

"I have been addressed by many titles and epithets in my life, but never that one," he smiled back.

"Enjoy it while you can," she retorted. "I have a feeling that in about a month's time, I'm going to be calling you names a lot stronger than that one!"

* * *

Autumn caught up with them midway through their journey, something over a hundred miles and a month south of the burned plains around the valley. Over-arched by a cloudless sky of spectacular blue, they had reached the first foothills of the rolling country that stood between the high prairie and the coastal plains that flowed down to the sea. It was an area wooded and lush, clad in a mixed forest of conifers and deciduous trees. The approaching autumn weather was beginning to tinge the woods in shades of gold, rust and orange, peeking from the dominant stands of tall pines.

The trek across the plains had been arduous for Christine, who could not travel far before her strength began to wane. Spock was sympathetic and had rigged a small travois to haul her pack. Christine carried only what she could easily manage, while Spock and Sapel took turns with the travois. They took turns carrying T'Jenn, too, when the little girl became too tired to walk, or they pulled her on the travois if they themselves were too tired to hike with her extra weight on their shoulders.

The family had crossed the river at the ford, now nearly dry, to the west bank, knowing that soon the waterway would grow too wide to allow easy or safe passage. They followed its path south but approached the river itself only to replenish their water bags. There were predators lurking in the river, ten foot reptiles that were lightning fast, and lions that often lay in wait at the water holes. Every venture to water was fraught with danger and the carefully hoarded phasers they'd taken from the slavers years before came into use more than once. Unfortunately, the power packs were all but dead and would generate nothing more than a short, stinging burst. It was enough to discourage attackers, but Spock knew the weapons were all but useless now.

Christine had walked dutifully as far as she could every day, all the while fighting nausea and dizziness and a slowly building but constant pain that enveloped her burgeoning abdomen. The weather had been hot and dry the entire way until the heat broke with a wild and storm-torn night as a cold front plowed past their small camp, pushing the wilting heat away and leaving in its wake refreshing coolness and crystalline skies.

On this morning, the woman rose from her bedding and stretched luxuriantly. For once, the nausea didn't come and her aches and pains seemed to have vanished with the storm front. Spock was already up, searching out firewood, and he came back with an armload of small branches and brush.

"Good morning," he said and leaned to kiss his wife lightly. "You look as if you slept well."

"I did!" Christine spun slowly around, breathing in the freshness. "I feel marvelous! I feel like I could go twenty miles today!"

Her husband lifted one eyebrow appraisingly. "I would not become over-enthusiastic, _t'hy'la_. I doubt this burst of energy will last."

"Probably not, but I feel great right now!" She laughed from the pure joy of it.

The stirring around the camp woke the children, although Sapel pulled his bedding over his head and pointedly turned his back on his parents, unwilling yet to get up. Jenny, though, sat up and blinked crankily. "Mama?" she whined. "I needa go pee-pee."

"Okay, sleepy head," Christine smiled, reaching for her little daughter's hand. "Come on. Mama needs to go, too." She got her child on her feet and the two of them disappeared into the woods just outside of camp.

By this time, Spock had replenished their campfire and he gave his son a poke with his foot. "It is well past dawn, Sapel. Get up."

The lump in the furs stirred. "Ah, Pa, Jenn kept me awake all night. I couldn't sleep a wink."

"Indeed. You have perfected snoring while wide awake then," Spock responded. "Get up! As soon as we have breakfast, we will be breaking camp and getting on our way. It is a beautiful morning. Good traveling weather."

Grumbling, the boy flung back the bed furs and rose with exaggerated yawns. Stretching and scratching, he wandered out of camp to relieve himself among the trees. His father shook his head and skewered some leftover rabbit from the night before, hanging it near the fire to warm. As he was getting their breakfast ready, Christine and T'Jenn came back to the fire and Christine poured water from the water bag over their hands to cleanse them. Spock noticed that his wife was quieter than when she had left, but decided that her short-lived euphoria had been damped by the ever-present nausea she'd had during this entire pregnancy.

Sapel returned, washed his hands, and the family settled down to breakfast. It didn't take long and, within the hour, they had broken camp, snuffed out their fire, and set out into the hills on their southward journey.

Christine walked behind Spock with Jenny at her side while Sapel brought up the rear, dragging the travois. There was not a lot of undergrowth beneath the trees and, despite their path leading them steadily uphill, the march was not hard. Still Christine concentrated on keeping pace and not forcing them to go more slowly than they already did. But she wondered how far they would get today, after all. Once back on the move, her body began to manifest the growing pains that had become usual. As her belly expanded in the eighth month of gestation, tendons stretched and muscles complained at the increasing weight of the baby in her womb. Her back ached terribly sometimes and her breath was short as the infant crowded up against her lungs.

All of that she could take in stride, knowing it was normal and expected at this stage in her pregnancy. What worried her though ... and what she had not mentioned to Spock ... was the fact that this morning, as she'd wiped herself with a handful of leaves after relieving herself, she'd found blood on the makeshift toilet tissue. Not a lot, just a hint of it, hardly noticeable. But it shouldn't have been there and, as she walked along, her brain was beginning to tick over every complication of pregnancy she could think of ... and not liking the results she was getting. Not liking them at all...

* * *

Christine felt the next one coming and knew it was going to be a bad one. She was right. It was.

Her abdomen constricted as if a steel belt was around her belly and being pulled tighter than she thought possible. Unable to walk, barely able to stand, she flung her arms around a tree and hung on until it passed. Faint from the pain, it took her a moment to realize that something warm and wet was sliding down her inner thighs. Looking down, she was unsurprised to find a mixture of blood and thin greenish liquid dripping onto the ground between her feet.

A combination of fear and despair filled her and she cried out, "Spock!"

He was some way ahead, dragging the travois with T'Jenn asleep on it, Sapel walking along behind. Neither had noticed that Christine was slowly falling behind.

Now Spock whipped around in alarm and immediately slipped out of the travois harness, lowered the poles to the ground, and was at his wife's side within a minute.

"The baby—" he stated.

She nodded. "It's coming, Spock. You better set up camp right now!" Another contraction gripped her and she couldn't help moaning.

He had her in his arms and was lowering her to the grass even as her legs were buckling. "Sapel! Bring me the ground sheet!" he shouted over his shoulder and went down onto his knees with Christine in his embrace. "How long have you been in labor?"

"Since about mid-morning," she answered.

"And you said nothing?!" Spock was caught between anger and horror.

"The pains weren't bad and I wanted us to get as far as we — oohh!" Her face screwed up with agony.

Sapel came running with the elk-hide blanket, stripped and tanned into smooth, soft leather.

"Spread it out on that level ground beneath that tree," Spock directed then helped Christine over to lie on the covering.

The boy stood by, shock covering his face. Spock looked up at him and sent a thought of reassurance his way. "Go bring the travois over here so we can keep an eye on T'Jenn, then I need for you to find a clear stream," Spock directed him quickly. "We need fresh water. Then get firewood and make a fire. Hurry!"

Sapel sprang away to do as he was told and Spock turned back to his laboring wife. "How far apart are the pains?" he asked.

"I don't know," she panted. "They suddenly got a lot ... oohh ... closer and ... ahhh! ... harder."

"Has the sac ruptured?"

"Yes, just a few minutes ago." Christine panted again as yet another hard contraction hit her and Spock gripped her hand until it eased up. Sapel had pulled the travois close, then gone in search of water. The commotion had awoken T'Jenn, but the child seemed to know instinctively that she must not fuss now, for she sat silently, her blue eyes huge in her smudged face.

On her side, Christine rested between the increasingly frequent contractions, the pains getting sharper and longer. "Go ahead and set up camp," she urged her husband, but he shook his head and diligently moved his hands over her abdomen.

"I do not think there will be time," he said and an especially hard constriction clamped down on his wife's belly. It was accompanied by a fresh gout of blood from between her legs.

Christine cried out and clutched at her abdomen. "Oh, God, it's coming too fast! I feel like I need to push!"

"Try to resist the urge," Spock told her.

"I can't help it!" She rolled onto her back, grimacing. "Get this loin cloth off me! Quick! Oh, God, it's coming!!"

Rapidly Spock stripped her from the waist down, tossing aside the bloody, fluid-soaked length of leather. Immediately, Christine clasped her knees and pulled her legs back and apart, then curled her chin onto her chest and strained with all her might.

A tiny, dark-haired crown bulged from her vagina — too tiny to be full term — and Christine paused to gulp in a swift breath and bore down again. Spock hesitated. His hands were dirty, his instincts shouting that he must not touch the baby, but he was out of time — the baby's head burst into the air and diminutive shoulders followed immediately. Without further thought, Spock reached to deliver his squirming, newborn daughter.

The baby came free with a gush of blood and amniotic fluid, her little body perfect but too petite. She must only weigh about five pounds, he decided as he turned her face down and thumped her back, getting her lungs to drain and fill with air.

The baby choked, sputtered, then screamed lustily. As she sucked air into her lungs, her skin, covered with blue-white mucous, began to show color as her blood oxygenated for the first time. Spock barely registered that the infant was turning a delicate green instead of pink, and then he caught sight of her miniature pointed ears and sharply slanted brows. He'd been right — his new daughter was Vulcan!

But he had no time to wonder at the fairy-like being. Christine was delivering the placenta, the cord still attached to the baby. Quickly, he placed the child on his wife's stomach and bent to receive the gory mass of flesh squeezing from her body.

Blood continued to dribble from her, more than he thought was normal, and he searched for something to pack her vagina with.

There was nothing, at least nothing that was clean. Anything she'd prepared for the birth was packed deeply away and not to hand. They hadn't expected this. She wasn't due for another month and they'd planned on her giving birth at Sea Home.

As he frantically searched his mind for a solution, Christine clutched her baby to her chest and closed her eyes. Her teeth were beginning to chatter with shock and the child had stopped crying, lying cold and limp against her mother's belly.

Sensing disaster in the air, T'Jenn began to whimper with distress, then to wail openly, not understanding what was wrong but picking up her father's fear. Spock ignored her. He didn't know what to do to stop the bleeding or halt the rapid decline of his wife and child.

And where was Sapel? He should have been back by now!

As if conjured by the very thought, there was a crunch of leaves behind him and Sapel's voice said eagerly, "Papa! Papa, look who I found!"

 

END OF PART TEN

PART ELEVEN – "RESURRECTION" – FOLLOWS

 


	11. Year Eleven -- Resurrection

**Present Day**

Lifting his face from his hands, Spock surveyed the devastation of his homesite with a bleakness and sense of defeat that he rarely felt. The hurricane had destroyed their log cabin, ruined most of their belongings and food supplies, ravaged the surrounding area, and befouled the spring that supplied their drinking water. While the children were all right, Christine had suffered a broken leg and now lay in pain and need of medical attention.

Their animals were nowhere to be seen. Scruffy, the hunting cat who shared their lives, had scrambled up and out of the debris of the cabin at first light and there was no telling where she was now. Nor was there any indication of the whereabouts of Mezzie, their _mesohippus_ mare, and her newborn foal. Spock hoped that they had escaped during the storm and were now free once again.

But his immediate attention lay with his family. Pulling himself together both mentally and physically, the Vulcan took a deep breath and forcefully shoved his shock and grief away. All five of them were alive and that was the most important thing. They could begin again from nothing. They'd done it often enough.

But first things first...

Spock stood up abruptly and took command, as his training and experience came to the forefront, his logical mental processes sorting out the situation and priorities.

"Sapel, gather firewood and kindling and get a fire going," he directed. "We will all feel better with a bit of warmth."

The boy jumped up at his father's abrupt order and hurried to comply. "Christine, are you more comfortable lying down or sitting?"

"I'm okay lying here for the moment," his wife answered, although pain was obvious in her voice.

Spock nodded. "I will attempt to make you more comfortable shortly. T'Jenn, I want you to take charge of T'Kai and both of you stay close to Mama until Sapel and I return."

Jenny, her blue eyes big with tears, nodded and hugged her baby sister closer.

"Where are you going?" Christine asked, puzzled.

"Back into the cabin. We need blankets, medicines, food, anything else I can salvage," her husband responded. "Once Sapel returns and has the fire going, send him to help me."

She nodded and watched as Spock dropped back into the opening in the jumble of logs that had once been their home.

It didn't take Sapel long to come back with his arms laden with brush and small branches. A seasoned woodsman at eleven, he had the fire laid and blazing quickly. It hadn't been easy finding dry tinder in the rain-soaked forest, but he knew where to look. Pine cones and knots provided the fuel to get the fire going, their resin-heavy bark proving an excellent accelerant. Then he went to help his father.

Spock had already tossed a pile of supplies up out of the opening. There were sleeping furs, utensils and food that weren't too badly damaged by the rain, plus some clothing, a water bag and a quiver of arrows. Sapel took the furs back and laid them out over bushes around the fire to dry them, then returned to take a cooking pot and some spoons from his father. Then Spock crawled out of the opening and paused for a moment to catch his breath.

"That's all I can reach easily," he said. "There's more but I'll need more time to get to it." He went back to where Christine and the girls were waiting and checked on how they were doing. "Good," he said. "I think the next order of business is food and water. Sapel, we need to go down to the hot spring and see if there is clear water there. And we will look for any small game that may not have survived the storm. We need fresh meat." Spock knelt down by his wife. "Will you be all right while we're gone?"

"I have my knife," Christine answered with some of the old determination glinting in her eyes, her spirits rising as they began to pull themselves back together. "Go get the water. We'll be fine."

The hot spring and pool that lay about a quarter of a mile away had both sustained damage, but the spring bubbled up unperturbed. It still ran into the little basin, cooled and then spilled over the edge to run off down toward the sea. Spock filled the water bag as Sapel scouted the area. A shout of triumph sounded and then his son reappeared holding two tree-hoppers by their long bushy tails. Their tree home had crashed down in the storm, killing the little squirrel-like animals, and they would prove a tasty addition to the meager stew that would soon be brewing.

By the time afternoon came around, the sun was shining in a crystal-blue sky, all the lingering clouds of the storm blown away. Sapel had gathered more firewood and pine knots and stacked them nearby, and Spock had skinned and cut up the squirrels, getting them cooking in a soup of salvaged spices and tubers. Christine's leg had been splinted and dressed and she was sipping a tea of medicinal herbs to ease the pain. About midday, Scruffy had reappeared, a bit bedraggled, but mewing contentedly, and had gratefully taken the bits of offal Spock tossed to her as he cleaned the squirrels. Now the cat was keeping the young girls occupied as Spock sat with his wife and son, thinking and sorting out what they needed to do next.

"I believe it will be possible to clear out the site and rebuild the cabin," Spock said, stirring the soup. "The logs and beams don't seem damaged, just knocked apart."

"Spock, do you realize what time of year it is?" Christine pointed out patiently.

"Yes. It is approximately the first of March."

"Precisely. It will be spring very soon and then early summer. You know what happens when it starts warming up here."

"Bugs!" Sapel interjected, his brows lowering in a dire frown. "Mosquitos. Gnats."

"Yes, Sapel, thank you," Spock broke in with just a hint of irritation. "But what else would you suggest, Christine? You cannot travel with a broken leg and we must have shelter. Logic dictates that I begin rebuilding the cabin immediately."

"Alone?" his wife shot back. "Last time it took both of us, working as hard as we could, weeks to get this cabin built. You can't possibly do it without me."

"Sapel will help," the Vulcan pointed out patiently.

"Sapel is just a little boy!"

"I'm nearly grown, Ma!" protested Sapel, offended. "I'm strong. I can help Papa do whatever he needs! Can't I, Pa?"

"We will all do what needs doing," his father agreed. "On Earth or Vulcan, he would be nearly fourteen and in some cultures would already be earning a living. He is grown enough to help me with the cabin."

"And meantime who's going to hunt for food?" Christine's eyes softened a little and she apologized. "I'm sorry, Spock. I know I'm playing Devil's Advocate here, but we have to ask all the questions and get answers to them."

"I understand, _t'hy'la_. I do not fault you. But do not be a doomsayer, either. We _will_ do what must be done! We must."

Spock sighed and shook his head. "We cannot depend on any unexpected help arriving as it did when T'Kai was born. You know they are no longer in the area."

"I know..." Christine's blue eyes turned introspective at the memory. "I don't think they'd be much help building a cabin anyway." She sighed as well and looked back up at her husband. "I guess we can forget about the cavalry coming over the hill, can't we?"

"That is unfortunately true. We are once again faced with surviving completely on our own. We can expect help from no quarter." A mantle of calm acceptance seemed to settle on Spock's shoulders and he once more stirred the simmering stew.

"I believe this is ready. Sapel, would you retrieve your sisters? I believe they are playing in that direction."

"I don't want them wandering too far anyway," Christine added. "I want them back in my sight."

"Sure, Mama, I'll get them. They're just playing with Scruffy. I can hear them." The boy rose smoothly to his feet and started in the direction his younger siblings had gone.

"Now that he's gone," Christine said, "how bad it is ... really?"

"We have been in worse circumstances," Spock admitted, "but it is bad enough. You raise very valid questions and I can only respond that we will handle them as they arise. What else can we do?"

"I don't know. Nothing, I suppose." She shifted and grimaced.

"Are you in pain?"

"Yes, but I can stand it. You did a good job setting the bone. And the tea is helping."

"Good. I will make more later when—"

Spock's statement was cut off abruptly as there came almost simultaneously, from up the hill, a startled cry from Sapel and then T'Jenn's high-pitched, terrified scream. The Vulcan leaped up and ran, remembering another time when his daughter had screamed like that...

* * *

**Year Eleven**

Spock frantically searched his mind for something to stop the blood seeping from his wife's body as she lay with her tiny newborn clutched to her chest. Christine's teeth were chattering with shock and the baby wasn't crying, a bad sign. Behind him, T'Jenn was wailing in distress but he had no time for her. Where was Sapel? he wondered. He'd sent the boy for water and firewood, something that shouldn't be taking this long.

As if summoned by his father's thought, there was a crunch of leaves and Sapel's voice said, "Papa! Papa, look who I found!"

Even as he was turning to see, T'Jenn let out a piercing scream of fright and Spock whipped all the way around, reaching for his knife as he did. What he saw stopped him cold.

Sapel was coming from between a stand a trees and behind him, emerging from the forest like gray shadows, were a half dozen upright beings, non-human, fur-covered and heavily armed with spears and bows. He recognized them immediately and his knees nearly buckled in surprise before he recovered himself. The Lemurian leading the group was Picku, the female who had found and saved them three years before when he'd been dying from gangrene following a goring by a plains beast.

But this was a different Picku from the one he remembered. The Picku he'd last seen had been a child, a playmate of Sapel's age, mischievous and bright. This was a battle-scarred adult, her expressive eyes grim and hard. The Lemurians behind her were unknown to him and were of a stockier build than she, all of them taller and broader of shoulder. Their fur was a slightly different color, too, more dusky gray than her buff cream.

Nevertheless, the Teela'u female stepped up to him and lifted her hand, the long fingers with their black skin spreading in greeting. Spock touched his fingers to hers and immediately felt the connection grow between them.

// _My greetings, P'ck_ ,// she sent to him. // _I feel pleasure to see you once again_.//

// _My greetings to you as well, Picku-daughter-of-Char'eek_ ,// the Vulcan returned. // _Once more you find us when we have need of help_.//

// _I see this_.// The little female turned her large dark golden eyes toward Christine. // _C'tine-mate suffers. The new one suffers. We will do what we can do_.//

She turned and chattered in her own language to her companions and the group moved forward to assess the situation. For a few moments, they all crowded around the nearly‑unconscious woman and ran their hands over her and the baby. Then Picku grasped Spock's wrist and her eyes captured and held him.

// _We must move her to our camp. Bring your drag-poles. It is not far_.//

// _What about the baby?_ // Spock asked, glancing at the still form of the infant.

// _Baby is cold. I will keep it warm. First, chew off cord. No need it more_.//

// _I'll tie the cord and cut it. Give me a moment_.//

Spock took his steel hunting knife and cut a thin length of leather from his tunic, then quickly knotted it onto the baby's umbilical cord and neatly cut the link to the placenta. "I should bury this," he said.

Picku touched his arm again. // _No time. Leave it. Blood in the air now. Eaters will come_.// Quickly, she chattered to the others and they hoisted Christine onto the travois, still on the elk‑hide ground sheet, and wrapped it around her securely for warmth. It was soaked with blood and birth fluids, but there was no time here to clean her.

Picku was cuddling the infant against her warm creamy fur and it made a mewling sound, responding to her body heat. Then, to Spock's surprise and shock, the Lemurian opened her body pouch and tucked the baby inside.

"No! She'll suffocate!" he burst out, taking a step forward.

Picku looked up at him, uncomprehending, then said, // _She breathe fine. My baby breathe fine_.// She pulled the pouch open again and held the flap out for Spock to see. The baby girl was snuggled in fetal position there ... next to a six-inch long baby Teela'u, its mouth attached to a teat and sucking contentedly.

Gulping, Spock stepped back and nodded, speechless. Picku closed the pouch again and now appeared heavily pregnant from the unexpected load she carried. But it didn't seem to phase her. She directed Spock to take the head of the travois once again and four of the burly Lemurs, two on each side, picked up the trailing ends of the poles, lifting them just clear of the ground.

The travois became a stretcher, easier on Christine as they bore her away into the forest, Picku in the lead, Sapel carrying T'Jenn and the other big male following behind, keeping watch.

* * *

They had to stop twice to allow the Lemurians to rest and so that Spock could check on Christine's condition. Under no circumstances did he want her slipping into unconsciousness. She was so close to shock that he feared she might not wake up again.

Fortunately, the constant bumping and movement kept her shaken into wakefulness, the pain of birth jolting her whenever she began drifting off. Several times she cried out or called for her baby, but all they could do was try to keep the stretcher as level as possible and move at a steady pace through the forest. Within the hour, though, they had reached the Teela'u camp and twenty to thirty Lemurians of all ages came running to meet them, their rapid-fire language coming from all sides.

Picku, clearly in charge, directed them to take the stretcher-borne woman to a low hut thatched with the leaves of a gigantic fern. Inside, it was dark and cool, but the Teela'u female swiftly ordered both a fire kindled and an opening made in the roof material, both letting in light and allowing smoke to escape. As this was being carried out, Christine was gently lowered to the ground and Picku turned her attention here. She snapped a command and before long others returned with bowls of fragrant, steaming water, softly tanned skins and woven cloths.

Spock was kneeling beside his wife, anxiously stroking her pale face, when Picku touched his arm. // _Take the young ones and go with Al'qk. He is my mate. He knows of you_.//

Spock looked up to find the big, burly male who had trailed them now standing in the doorway. The Vulcan exchanged nods with him, then asked mentally of Picku, // _What about Christine and the baby?_ //

// _I am healer here now. Do not worry_.//

She shooed them from the hut and then, assisted by two more females, turned her attention to the woman and child.

* * *

When Spock was next summoned to Picku's hut, he found his wife magically transformed. Though still weak, she was awake and alert, lying in a dry bed of furs, the new baby contentedly nursing at her breast. Looking up, Christine let a radiant smile spread over her face and held out her free hand to him. He took it then settled cross-legged beside her, leaning to give her a light, but heart-felt kiss.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Like I just had a baby," she grinned back. "Other than that, not too bad." She looked down at the tiny dark head. "Isn't she gorgeous?"

"Indeed." Spock was silent for several minutes as the two of them let their gazes rest on the newest member of their family. Tiny but perfect, the infant was the picture of her father's people, porcelain skin tinted a faint green, elfin-featured and capped with midnight hair. "I have seldom seen a more beautiful child."

Christine's eyes crinkled with amusement. "And how many newborns have you actually seen?"

Spock allowed his brows to lift marginally. "A few."

Christine had been thinking "three" and the death of one of her children leaped back to twist her heart. "She looks like T'Larin, doesn't she?" It was a whisper, veiled in sudden tears.

"T'Larin had blue eyes," Spock reminded her, although his throat too was unusually tight. "I believe this child will possess my eye color. Or perhaps even a darker shade. Some members of my family have eyes that are almost black." He lightly stroked the baby's silky cheek. It caused the child to pause for a second in her suckling, then renew her nursing at her mother's nipple.

The little family fell into silence again, the parents unable to tear their gazes from the diminutive infant. At long last, her nursing slowed and her face eased into sleep, her mouth working now and then reflexively. Christine disengaged the baby from her nipple and closed her tunic, settling into a more comfortable position.

"Are you still agreeable to the name we discussed?" Spock asked softly.

"Yes. Name thy child, husband," Christine answered quietly, knowing the ritual.

Spock nodded and moved his finger up to touch the baby's temple, carefully allowing the tendrils of his psyche to touch the as-yet unformed mind.

"Child, know that thee has a name and a belonging. Thou art T'Kai Christiana, daughter of Spock cha'Sarek, daughter of Christine t'cha David, of the Combined Houses of Ni'ikhirch and Chapel, direct heir to the line of Surak. Be welcome into the folds of thy Clan."

The baby gave a little cry, then settled down again, blinking once sleepily and yawning as Spock withdrew the rudimentary meld. Christine smiled. "I don't think she's impressed, O Great Son of Surak."

"Perhaps not now," he answered, the corners of his mouth turning up despite his efforts to remain serious. "But she is our daughter from this moment on."

"And whose was she before?" Christine demanded in mock outrage. "I suppose she would've just stayed in Picku's pouch and been raised by the Teela'u if you hadn't named her!"

He silenced her the best way he could think of — by bending down to cover her lips with his. The kiss lasted a very long time and, when he finally lifted his head, she had tears in her blue eyes. "I love you, Spock," she whispered.

"You are my beloved wife," he answered and kissed her again. "Thank you for the children you have borne me. I would be an empty shell without you and them to enrich my life." He kissed her one more time, then said, "Sleep now, t _'hy'la_. Rest and regain your strength. When I come back, I'll bring Sapel and T'Jenn to meet their sister and to see that you are going to be all right. I'm afraid Jenny is extremely worried about her Mama."

Christine couldn't repress a warm smile. "Wait until the sibling rivalry sets in! She's not the baby of the family anymore! She'll have a time adjusting!"

"Rest," he told her firmly, then gracefully rose to his feet and left the hut, glancing back for one more look at his wife and child.

* * *

Leaving the fern-leaf hut, Spock made his way to where his other children and several Lemurians were gathered around a campfire. Jenny was playing rough and tumble with the younger Teela'u, laughing in a high, delighted childish voice, all of them rolling and wrestling in the grass. Sapel, however, was sitting next to Picku and they were obviously conversing, for she had her long-fingered hand solidly on his arm, enhancing the telepathic link between them.

Sapel looked faintly distressed, Spock noted, although he couldn't pinpoint exactly why.

Settling gracefully into lotus position next to Picku, Spock waited until she turned to him and fixed him with her huge golden eyes. // _Eat now?_ // she asked him.

"Yes, thank you." He reached for a large red fruit, one of many different kinds laid out on a mat before them and bit into it. It was both sweet and tart and was quite delicious. He switched his conversation to mental. _//Christine and the baby are settled now and asleep. My gratitude to you is endless, Picku'acka'neech. I have no way of repaying your kindness_.//

// _It is MY repayment to you, S'pck. You set us free from the Teeli_.//

Spock gave a small nod and asked, // _Your father? And the others? I see none of them here_.//

Picku's eyes seemed to turn a darker shade of gold. // _They are dead_ ,// she finally answered with little emotion. // _I am the only one of my clan left_.//

The Vulcan's shock transmitted clearly through the link. // _!!_ // Then he recovered himself. // _The village mothers? The children? All of them?_ //

// _All. After the night of release in the Teeli city, when all the slaves were freed and there was chaos, everyone ran as far as possible_ ,// Picku began, her eyes hooded, her gaze far away. In Spock's mind, images of the events came as if he were watching it on a vidscreen. They were memories from the Lemurian's own experiences. // _We went to the northeast and then began to turn back toward our village in the baobabs. My father was weak and could not travel as fast as the rest of us, but we would not leave him. It took us four days before we were able to make it back to the village trees_.// She paused and Spock was flooded with the pain of her memory. // _The Teeli had come there already. There was no one left alive, not even babies in pouch. They even killed the babies._ //

Reflexively, Picku's hand went to the slight bulge in her own belly pouch, where her own tiny infant nestled safely. It was a long moment before she could go on. // _The shock was too much for my father. He died that evening of grief. The rest of us gathered what supplies we could salvage and headed northeast. We were not fast enough, though. The Teeli were still tracking us and they caught us as we reached the hill country. We were few and they were many_...// Again her mental voice failed as the trauma of the remembrance overtook her.

Spock did not speak, too gripped by her narrative and by his own horror. Finally she continued. // _Al'qk found me_ ,// she said, indicating the big grey Lemur sitting across the fire from her, his dark topaz eyes holding her firmly in his gaze. // _I was nearly dead. All the others were. He brought me back here and they nursed me back to health. I carry his son in my pouch now. We are mates_.//

Spock found his voice. // _He ... his people ... they are not Teela'u?_ // It was part question, part statement. // _There are differences_.//

// _He ... they are Teel'qk. We had known of their clan but had not met them. They are of these forests and hills_.// She let her own gaze move up to meet Al'qk's. // _I am Teel'qk now_.//

Spock sighed heavily. // _I grieve for thee, Picku. For the loss of your people and especially for your father. I will never forget him_.//

// _They are all gone back to the Pouch of the World now_ ,// she answered resolutely. // _It is the way of things_.//

// _Kai'idth_ ,// he thought in Vulcan. He didn't need to translate for the intent and meaning of the word transmitted through the mindlink. // _As it is._ //

They were interrupted as T'Jenn, now weary and sleepy from her energetic play with the Lemurian children, came and climbed into her father's lap, snuggling against his warmth. Spock pulled her against him, thanking his ancestors that his own children were safe. The little girl was soon asleep, her tousled head resting against his chest. Spock did not disturb her, but held her through the night as the Teel'qk came and went, sometimes gathering around the fire and eating, talking among themselves, and finally moving away to their sleeping places. It was after midnight before Spock finally rose with Jenny in his arms, and he and Sapel retired to the hut they had been given as their own.

* * *

" _Kah!_ " Sapel threw down his bow in disgust. It had been a ridiculously easy shot and he had missed. Now the fat bird had flown, nowhere to be seen.

Spock laid a calming hand on his son's shoulder, feeling the boy's agitation. "Stop and focus, Sapel," he told him. "Say the _Kahl'noh_ and bring your emotions back into check."

"I don't remember it!"

"Yes, you do," his father insisted softly. " _D'nel'vahr ni tu'ki_ —"

" _D'nel'vahr ni tu'ki pari'kahl_." Sapel picked up the chant and repeated it with Spock, the man helping him when he stumbled. By the time they had said the meditation verse through twice, Sapel was beginning to bring himself under control. The bouts of anger and frustration had become more frequent of late and Spock had been watching him closely.

"Now," Spock said at last. "Let us discuss what is troubling you."

"Nothin'," the boy hedged, dropping his gaze.

"Indeed? As your mother would say, 'you could have fooled me!'"

The boy retrieved his bow and wiped dust from the curved wood. "Well, nothin' much," he muttered. Spock only regarded him silently, waiting.

Sapel picked up a twig and threw it forcefully into the water of the little creek that gurgled beside them, then plunked down cross-legged on the bank. Quietly, Spock seated himself likewise, still not speaking.

Sapel was hushed for a long time, his gaze lost in the creek's burble and tumble over its course. Finally, the boy ventured, "I just been thinking about things, that's all. Pa, you remember when we talked a while back about who my mate would be?"

"Yes."

"Well... I was thinking about how there wasn't anybody for me, 'cept Jenn, and you said she was absolutely off-limits 'cause she's my sister."

"That is correct. And now T'Kai as well," Spock confirmed, having some idea where this was heading.

Sapel picked up a stick and doodled a bit in the dirt. "Well ... The only other person I could think of was ... Picku ... only I didn't know how to find her." He poked at the dirt harder. "Then we came here and..." The stick broke.

"And she already had a mate and a child," Spock finished for him.

Sapel nodded, methodically breaking the stick into smaller pieces. "I thought maybe she might feel the same way I do..."

Spock sighed and let his gaze roam over the trees overhanging the creek. Their leaves were a deep yellow and beginning to fall, drifting away on the eddies and flow of the stream. It reminded him of the time of year it was. They'd been here a month already as Christine recovered from childbirth and the tiny baby gained strength. Christine was up and around again, but the premature infant was slow to develop, only her innate Vulcan stamina seeing her through. Nevertheless, the child had not shown the vigor of her older brother and sister and Spock worried about her health. Regardless of that, winter would be coming on soon and they must be at Sea Home before it hit. They would have to leave in the next few days.

But the problem of the moment was Sapel and Spock turned his attention back to his son. "Sapel, I do not know if a match between you and Picku ever would have worked," he began. "It is not just that you and she are different species from different worlds. In my travels, I have seen dozens of interspecies couples and, in fact, my own parents are the products of two very different planets and cultures. As Surak said, 'May we together be more than the sum of our parts.' But it was exceedingly difficult for them to overcome those differences and learn to live together. And when it came to having a child, it took an extraordinary amount of sophisticated science and medical knowledge to allow a mating between them. No other Vulcan and Human couple had ever been successful in producing a hybrid child. Not one that lived, anyway. I was the first and, for a very, very long time, the _only_. My genetic structure had to be manipulated extensively simply to allow me to survive. It is the only reason, even now, that your mother and I are able to have children."

"Well, I wouldn't care if Picku and I couldn't have any kids," Sapel shrugged.

"But Picku might. There is an instinctive drive to reproduce in the females of most species. That is a universal constant in order to keep the line going." The boy dropped his gaze once more. His father went on gently, "It would not have worked, Sapel."

"It might've—"

"No. The rate of maturity is wrong, for one thing. Picku is a full adult now. You are still a boy, yet to reach your Awakening."

Sapel bent his head and buried his hands in his long black hair, holding his throbbing skull. His despair was palpable. "Then we're right back where we started!" he cried. "I don't have anyone! I'll _never_ have anyone!"

"Sapel, 'never' is a very arbitrary word," Spock retorted sternly. "You do not know what the future will bring. We might yet be found someday—"

"And we might not!"

"Our friends — your mother's and mine — could still be searching for us."

"And they might not!"

"Sapel, that's enough!" Spock's patience had run thin. "This wailing and lamenting will not change the facts at all."

"If I could just get Picku to realize—"

" _Kroykah!_ " Shocked, the boy shut up and stared at his father. Spock drew a deep breath and continued, "A friend of mine, the captain of my ship, once told a young man who was in much your same situation, 'There are a million things in the universe you can have and a million things you can't.' It is time you recognized that and learned to accept it."

Sapel seemed on the verge of sobbing, but only sighed shakily and didn't answer for a while. Finally, he asked faintly, "What happens when ... when the Waking starts?"

"Awakening," Spock corrected him, again in a soft tone, and was tempted to draw his son close to him, but it was not something a Vulcan father did. Not with a son who was half-grown, anyway. "I will help you to endure it and show you a way to relieve the pain and the pressure. If we were on Vulcan, I would send you to the _reldai_ on Mt. Seleya, as my own father did me."

"Who're they?"

"Priestesses of the temple there, guardians and keepers of the ancient thought and traditions. One of their functions is to guide young men through their first sexual experiences and teach them techniques to control the urges of their minds and bodies."

"So..." Sapel hesitated. "So ... they taught you ... how to have sex ... when you were my age?"

"I was older than you," Spock answered. "I was seventeen and betrothed to a girl who was intended to become my lifemate."

"Then you had a mate to go to! Did you and she—"

"No! The Awakening is not the Time of Mating. My marriage to T'Pring was never consummated. In fact, we divorced long ago without ever coming together," Spock told him.

"How come?"

"For ... personal reasons," the man answered, uncomfortable with the change of topic. The last thing he wanted to discuss was the disastrous _koon-ut-kali-fee_ and all that it had entailed. He brought the subject back to Sapel. "I will teach you, when the time comes, the ways to control yourself, as the _reldai_ taught me. We will journey through this together, Sapel. And, as for a mate for you ... we will 'cross that bridge when we come to it.'"

Spock rose to his feet and brushed leaf litter from his leggings and loincloth. "Come now, cha'i. It's getting late. We will try a hunt again tomorrow."

"Okay." Sapel got up and adjusted his clothing. "But it really gripes me that I missed that partridge."

" _Kai'idth_ , my son. _Kai'idth_."

* * *

Christine was just laying five-week-old T'Kai into her basket cradle as Spock wedged the barrier of giant fern leaves into place in the doorway. The wind had picked up and turned out of the north, chill and with the promise of full winter not far behind it. It found its way through the thatch walls of the little shelter and drew the smoke from the small hearth up through the opening in the roof, causing the embers to glow and rise after it.

Christine glanced at this and then said, "Put the fire out, will you, Spock? I don't trust this place not to go up in flames if one of those sparks lands just right ... or wrong, as the case may be."

"These shelters were never intended to have a hearth in them," he reminded her, as he obligingly poured water from their drinking bag over the flames until the fire was completely dead.

"Well, if we had built in fur coats like the lemurs, we wouldn't need it either," she replied.

Spock came and sank down next to her, peering at the fairy face of his tiny, sleeping daughter. "Is she better?"

"I think so. She doesn't seem to have a fever and she nursed well tonight. And I think she's gained a pound or so," Christine answered. "The other kids bedded down?"

"Yes. Both of them 'snug as a bug' in the creche ... although I'm not precisely sure why a bug would be snug."

Christine chuckled. "It's 'snug as a bug in a rug'. It's just a play on words, Spock. Homonyms. So, chicks all asleep and a blustery night out and here we are all alone. What shall we do with our evening?"

He glanced at her, one eyebrow lifting at her playful tone. It was then that he noticed she had not closed her tunic after nursing T'Kai. Her large breasts were still bared, her nipples fully extended and begging to be nuzzled.

She smiled, eyes hooded, and lay back on the bed furs. "Brrrr ... I'm cold!"

"Perhaps I should get you another blanket," he suggested.

"No, that wouldn't be enough." She grinned. "I think I need a hot Vulcan to snuggle up to."

"Indeed? Do you know any?"

She grabbed his hand and pulled him down beside her. "I guess I'll just have to make do with you!" Her arms went around his neck and she drew him unresisting into a long, hungry kiss.

When they came up for air, Spock asked her seriously, "Are you recovered enough? I do not wish to harm you in any way."

"I'm fine," she answered. "I'm fully healed and feeling great. My tits are a little sore but that's all. As long as you don't suck them too hard..."

"Then I shall be gentle," he answered softly and brought a hand up to cup and lightly fondle one of her swollen breasts.

Pulling back a little, he moved his gaze down to take in the action of his hand as it caressed and moved over her body, teasing the turgid nipple and raised areola. "Your breasts are so beautiful when you are nursing," he whispered and bent to drop a kiss on the inflamed area.

She arched her back, eyes closed. "You're just like every other man I've ever known," she sighed. "The bigger the boobs, the better you like them."

"I see," he murmured, moving his lips over and around the smooth globe. "How many other men have you allowed this pleasure?"

"Oh, hundreds," she replied. "I used to be a pleasure girl on Risa. Didn't you know that?"

" _That's_ where I'd seen you before! The Captain told me about this tall, blonde—"

"Spock?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up!"

He did, concentrating on the business at hand. By the time he had covered every inch of silken breasts, stomach and thighs, they were both naked and she had done her part in reciprocating his exploration of her flesh. He was now on his back and she was methodically working her way down the line of dark hair that extended from his navel south. Deftly, she kissed around the root of the thick, straining rod that rose from the dense thatch of fur at the base of his quivering abdomen, teasing him unmercifully, for it was the area he most wanted touched and it was the one thing she had left alone in her ministrations. Shifting beneath her lips, he moaned and then gulped.

Christine raised her head to look at him, pleased at the expression of utter need covering his face. His eyes were closed and he was breathing open-mouthed, almost panting. Then, deliberately, she ran her tongue full up the entire underside of his erection. Spock's hips jerked up off the bedding and he caught his breath with a soft cry, gripping the furs frantically with both hands. Continuing, she swirled her tongue over the distended head, delving into the weeping eye, and finally drawing him fully into her mouth, taking as much as she could.

" _Ai, Heya! S'ran'th!_ " he groaned in anguish.

Christine released him and laughed throatily. "I'm killing you, hmm? It's just been so long since you had any that you just think you're dying."

"Does it not feel that way to you, my wife?" he retorted through gritted teeth.

"Oh, yes," she whispered, her gaze intent on his beloved face. "Yes, it does."

"Then it is time to live once more," he growled and seized her upper arms, pulling her full atop him. She didn't resist him, for the full force of his passion flowed through her like fire and her mouth found his in a ravenous kiss, their tongues dueling frantically against one another. Her thighs slid apart as she straddled his hips and at once he was probing upward in search of her entryway. For a moment, he could not find what he sought, then she shifted her position a bit and reached between them to grasp and guide him in. With a groan, he locked into place and his hips slammed up to drive him home.

Christine gasped against his mouth as both pain and pleasure lanced through her. It was the first time in several months he had been within her and her body had forgotten how sweet and aching it could be. He felt it through their bond and paused in his thrusting.

" _T'hy'la?_ Am I hurting you?"

"No. No, just for a second. Don't stop, Spock! Oh, gods, don't stop!"

Reassured, he resumed the pumping of his hips. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed herself upright, the action changing the angle of their bodies so that his erection pounded deeper within her. Moaning in response, she began moving her hips in cadence with his, meeting him thrust for thrust, the building waves of passion growing with each lunge and answer.

He reached up to engulf her dancing breasts with his large hands, rolling and pulling the nipples between thumb and forefinger until he again felt her stab of pain in his mind. At once he released her, forgetting for a moment that she was tender there, and instead moved his hands down to clasp her hips and hold her firmly against him.

There was no need. She was grinding into his pelvis with a single-minded purpose, her body building to a shattering orgasm that was only seconds away. Indeed, even as he realized how close she was to climaxing, Christine threw back her head and dug her nails into his shoulders and something like a nova blasted through their bondlink into his mind. The stellar furnace within him went off as well and he arched up beneath her, the plasma of his eruption exploding to fill her every inch.

For an eternity they hung there, blinded by the ecstasy, then slowly the rapture faded and they returned to the trembling bodies they inhabited. Suddenly weak, Christine collapsed atop him, sweat dripping onto his hot skin and chilling them. Spock reached for their furs and covered them both, Christine still astride him and he still lodged within her, though fading.

He made to move her off him, but she clung to him. "No, I just want to stay this way for a minute more," she murmured against his neck.

"As you wish, my beloved," he murmured back. "However you find the most comfort."

"It's just been so long. I don't want it to end so soon."

He stroked her hair, long and braided in a single plait down her back. "We have all night, my wife. I shall be here if you desire to Join in intercourse again."

"If?"

"When." There was amusement in his deep voice.

"Well, at least until Kai-Kai wakes up hungry or wet in the middle of the night."

That brought a low chuckle that rumbled through the torso pressed into hers. "Then perhaps you should get some sleep, _t'hy'la_! Perhaps we both should."

"Not yet," she answered and pressed her lips against his throat, letting the tip of her tongue tickle against his skin.

"You've got me thoroughly horny now and we've got several months to catch up on!" She latched onto his skin and sucked hard, his pulse throbbing beneath her mouth.

Spock felt himself growing hard once more and closed his eyes in surrender. "Are all the pleasure girls on Risa this voracious?" he asked as she moved up to run her tongue over his ear.

* * *

There was an unusual bustle in camp the next morning and Spock emerged from the fern leaf hut to find that the entire village seemed to be preparing to leave. The wind still blew briskly out of the north and he shivered slightly, the transition from his warm bed with Christine all the more drastic because of the lowered temperatures. As he stood, attempting to discern the reason for all the activity, Picku appeared out of the crowd, distinguishable by her creamy fur against the Teel'qk's gray.

She laid a hand on Spock arm and stretched up to her full height so that she could fix her huge golden eyes on his. Still he towered more than a foot taller than she, her head not even reaching his shoulders.

// _I come to you_ ,// she said to him telepathically. // _It is time for the winter move. We leave here_.//

// _Yes, I understand this_ ,// he thought back . // _It is time for our winter move as well. I was going to speak with you this morning about this._ //

// _You will go to your den by the sea?_ //

// _Yes. You will go back to the baobabs?_ // He projected the image of the huge, hollow trees to the west, where they had first met Picku and her family.

Pain shimmered back to him. // _It is no more for us_ ,// she replied. // _Teeli have it now. We go to sun birthing, to deep forest. Tall trees there and shelter from wind_.//

// _East_.// He nodded.

She hesitated then looked up at him again. // _You say leaving to S'pl? He not accept things yet. He is not long out of pouch_.//

Spock nodded. // _I will. I have spoken with him already about what is and what is not. Do you wish to say leaving to Christine? She nurses our baby now_.//

Picku seemed to consider it and then answered, // _Too much pain in parting. Say leave for me_.// Behind her, Al'qk, her stocky mate, appeared and stood waiting expectantly. Picku looked back up at the tall Vulcan. // _I part from you, Sp'qk. Maybe we meet again_.//

// _I part from you, Picku'acka'neech. I wish you safety. And, thank you, Picku. For my wife and child. They would have died if you hadn't found us. I owe you gratitude forever_.//

The Lemurian seemed uncomfortable and squirmed a bit at his speech. // _Good journey_ ,// she said abruptly and whirled to join her mate, then they were lost in the crowd.

"What's going on?" Christine's voice asked behind him. She had just finished changing and nursing T'Kai and had grown curious at Spock's absence.

"They're leaving," he responded. "We must, too. It's still 100 miles to Sea Home and winter won't wait for us."

"I know. It's December already." She hugged herself for warmth and drew a deep breath of the chill, fresh air, scented with pine and the odors of the camp. "Well, you go and find the kids from wherever they are — I suspect they're underfoot in any case — and I'll start getting our stuff together."

When he didn't move immediately, Christine looked up and found his dark eyes searching over her face, filled with affection. "What?" she asked.

"I was thinking how fortunate I am," he answered softly. "Some women would lament and bemoan the hardships of life here, or become hardened and bitter. But you never seem to allow our circumstances to phase you."

"And what good would bitching and moaning do? I'd still have to do what I have to do, no matter how much I complained. It's illogical to waste time like that. And you're wasting time, too, my sweet and thoughtful hubby. The lemurs are going to leave us in their dust and I'd still like to be able to say goodbye to the friends I've made here. So, let's get this show rolling and then you can tell me how wonderful I am after we get underway."

She gave him an encouraging little shove and ducked back into the hut where the baby had begun to fret once again.

* * *

The first fat snowflakes were swirling down from a low leaden sky as Spock topped the rise and looked down through the trees at the roughly built cabin below. "Oh, what a lovely sight!" Christine commented as she came to stand beside him. They had been traveling for nine days and the weather had grown steadily colder and damper as they neared the sea. "Looks like we didn't get here a minute too soon."

The children had joined them. "Whassat?" asked T'Jenn, holding her brother's hand.

"It's home, silly," he answered.

"Home?"

"You were born there, sweetie," Christine supplied and, for a few seconds, her memories went back to the hard labor and birth of her elder daughter. As if hearing her thoughts, T'Kai, snug in her carry cloth, squirmed and whimpered against her mother's warmth.

"I suggest we get to shelter and talk later," Spock said, glancing at the thickening snowfall. So saying, he leaned into the travois harness and started down the hillside, his family in tow.

* * *

The cabin had stayed remarkably well-sealed since their last visit, Christine thought. That had been... Good lord! T'Jenn had been born that winter and she was nearly four! In between time, they had gone through the horrible events in Lemuria, then fled north to find Eden Valley. The volcano had erupted the next winter and they'd gone back to Home Valley and built their sod house addition. They'd wintered over there and would have done so again if the summer and fall hadn't been so dry and all the game moved south. Christine shook her head. Where had the years gone? She turned her attention back to the log cabin.

Dust lay thickly over everything and cobwebs festooned the ceiling beams. Mice and tree hoppers had taken up residence and gnawed on the sparse furniture, which Spock had spent so much time and labor building. That could be repaired, however, in the long winter months to come. The cabin had a sad air of abandonment about it, but at least they hadn't had to evict a beardog or hill lion from the premises. The small critters she could deal with ... or Scruffy would. The hunting cat was a superb mouser! A good cleaning and airing out would work wonders, something Christine planned to start early the next morning, if the weather permitted.

Again she shook her head. It was unusual to see snow this far south and it worried her. Up north, they had experienced some real "blue northers" and blizzards, but usually the warm current off the Southern Sea kept winter pretty much at bay. They might be in for a hell of a winter this time. But there was nothing they could do in any case but batten down and weather. In the meantime, all she wanted was a fire in the fireplace, some hot food, and a good night's sleep. The journey had been longer than she cared to admit and she was experiencing that exhaustion that all mothers of tiny babies go through, aggravated by their circumstances and by T'Kai's continued sickliness.

That worried her more than she wanted to admit, too. As a nurse, she'd done her rounds in pediatrics and NICU during her training and she could never forget the tiny preemies who had captured her heart there. Not all of them had gone home in their mother's arms, despite 23rd century medicine. Her throat constricted as she looked down at her own little daughter and she sent up a prayer before turning back to the needs at hand.

There was firewood left from their last winter here, stacked outside the cabin. It was dry and thickly crusted with lichen, well-seasoned and easily sparked into flame. It didn't take Spock long to have the hearth blazing. While the cabin warmed up, Christine found a broom she had left and swept the area in front of the fireplace clean. Then she got out the leftover travel food and had it heating while they laid down their bedding furs and settled onto them. Soon they were enjoying their first meal indoors in a very long time. Outside, the snow continued to fall silently as day faded into a dull twilight.

There was a small sound at the door, at first almost hidden by the homey noises and popping of the fire, but then it came again, louder. Sapel jumped to his feet and rushed to unbolt the door, opening it a crack.

Scruffy slipped in and shook herself vigorously, ridding her spotted golden coat of accumulated snow. Then she peered up at the boy and gave a scratchy meow as if to say, "What took you so long? It's cold out there!" With that, she strolled regally to the fireside and sat down to groom herself.

The hunting cat had been absent during their stay with the Teel'qk. She and her nearly grown kittens had disappeared into the woods when the lemuroids had come on the scene and the family had not seen them during that entire time. Once on the trail again, Scruffy alone had turned up to journey with them, but there had been no further sign of the kittens. Were they dead or off on their own? No one could say and they were never seen again.

Scruffy herself did not seem perturbed so Spock concluded that, whatever had occurred during those five or six weeks, it was as nature intended and there was nothing they could do. It was the way of things. _Kai'idth_. It was a hard lesson but a fact of life in this wilderness. They had continued south and looked to their own survival.

Now, as night fell and the snow blanketed all around in silence, he was thankful to be snug in their home with his family safe around him. Scruffy abruptly leaped into the darkness at the far side of the cabin in pursuit of a mouse and Sapel and T'Jenn scrambled up to follow her, their weariness temporarily abated by food and the knowledge that they were home now. Their youthful exuberance was soothing and contentment seemed to spread with the firelight flickering on the beams.

Spock poked up the fire and added another log as Christine opened her tunic and offered a breast to her baby. T'Kai fussed and refused it at first, but the woman teased the baby's mouth with the distended nipple and was rewarded when the child turned her face to her mother's breast and began to suckle. With a sigh, Christine cradled the infant and caressed the small dark head.

"I think her fever is back," she said quietly. "I know that cold wind wasn't good for her."

"It is her Vulcan physiology," Spock replied, lounging back and stroking a light finger over his daughter's silky black hair. "She would thrive better in a climate more like my home."

"No chance of that at the moment," his wife answered. "We'll just have to keep her as warm as possible. Maybe she'll get better now that we're here."

"I too hope that is the case." Spock continued to thoughtfully run his finger over the baby's head. "But I believe she will come through all right. I was premature and my Vulcan genes aided in my growth."

"Yes, but your parents had all the benefits of a top notch medical center at their disposal and, anyway, you were only considered premature because Vulcan gestation is ten months instead of nine," Christine pointed out. "If your mother could have carried you another month, you would never have seen the inside of an incubator!"

He shrugged, conceding her point, still stroking the infant's head. "Nevertheless, I can feel the strength in T'Kai. I feel the spirits of my Ancestors ... _her_ Ancestors ... working to bring her through this. This baby is the great-great-granddaughter of T'Pau and I feel that same determination in our child. She will be a formidable woman when she is grown."

Christine felt a chill go over her that had nothing to do with the cold. Despite her husband's logical, scientific upbringing, there was a mystical side to him that came through now and again. She had always thought of Vulcan ancestor reverence as a primitive religion, but it was very real to him. He actually seemed to commune with his long-dead forebearers at times when he meditated. It frightened her because she expected ghostly apparitions to appear now and then. Of course, it was all in his mind ... literally. Those Ancestors were part of his _katra_ and it was ... you should pardon the expression ... logical, she supposed, that her Vulcan daughter would have inherited that as well.

Still, she didn't want to think about it tonight. "Why don't you get those two ready for bed?" she asked, nodding to her other children. They had come back to the fire and were gazing sleepily into the flames. "I think they're fading fast." She disengaged T'Kai from her nipple and put the child up to her shoulder, gently patting her back.

"I think we shall all turn in early tonight," Spock agreed.

The baby burped softly and Christine said, "Good girl! Let's have dessert now." She put the child to her other breast to nurse. "Do we have water, Spock?"

"Enough for tonight. I will fetch more in the morning." He got to his feet to put his elder two children to bed.

Christine cast an eye ceilingward where the wind was soughing over the timbers. "If you can get to the creek in the morning," she opined and shivered slightly once more.

* * *

Snow fell throughout the night and all the next day, but by nightfall it had begun to taper off. By the time the children were ready for bed, the clouds had blown away and the last of them scudded across the faces of the three rising moons. Christine had kept her family busy that day. The cabin had been cleaned as thoroughly as they could manage and put back in order. Bowls of snow were melted and heated, then used to scrub the stone-flagged floor and hearth, the crude table and chairs, and the stone sleeping area at the back of the cabin. After she was satisfied there, she sent Spock and Sapel out to bring in more firewood while she did a comprehensive inventory of the storage bins. Not surprisingly, nothing had survived the four-year absence. Either it had rotted away or been eaten by mice and other small creatures. The only food they had was what they'd brought with them and that would only last about a week if they were careful.

By nightfall, Christine ached all over and was sweaty and smudged from the house cleaning. The children were given baths with more heated snowmelt but Christine didn't have the energy to bathe herself, even though she knew she needed it. Spock took in her fatigue and told his son, "Sapel, your mother and I are going down to the hot spring. Jenn and the baby are asleep and you go to bed yourself. If you need us, shout. I will hear you. Otherwise, we will return before very long."

"Sure, Pa. We'll be okay." The boy yawned and got into his sleeping furs, closing his eyes. He appeared to fall asleep himself almost immediately.

Spock led his wife out into the moonlit snow and made sure the cabin door was secure. Christine was standing behind him, clutching her furs about her and looking puzzled. "Spock, why are we going way down there at this time of night?"

"Because you need a long soak in a hot bath," he answered and ushered her into the trees. The hot spring that trickled out of the rocks and into a small pool was less than a quarter mile from their cabin, an easy walk even through several inches of virgin snow. They felt the ambient warmth of the surrounding air even before they reached the clearing and the clouds of steam rising from its surface. Christine had to admit that her tired body already felt renewed before she and Spock had stripped off and waded into the almost too-hot water.

They moved to the lower end of the pool where the water was cooler and where it splashed over a small cataract before running away down the hillside toward the sea. The rock basin that held the pond was little larger than a swimming pool, about five feet at its deepest and floored with clean, soft sand. The two settled into an area about two feet deep and for a while used the sand to scrub themselves and each other clean of the day's grime. As they did, Christine related what she had found regarding their supplies.

"Sapel and I will go hunting tomorrow," Spock said, rubbing sand over one of her shoulders and down her arm.

She reciprocated the action on his body. "Your first target can be those damned tree hoppers up in the rafters. If you can clear them out, we'll have squirrel stew."

"Yes. We must eradicate them in any case," Spock agreed. "But there aren't more than two meals there. We should be able to find game in the woods. Also, we will attempt to snare geese on the marsh. There should be large flocks wintering over."

"Mmmm... wash my back, will you?" She presented her bare back to Spock and he obligingly scrubbed down her spine.

"Oh, that is wonderful! Mmmm... we need to look for fruits and vegetables, too. I should be able to dig up cattail roots around the marsh. They should still be good. Ohh... and after the snow clears, we can look for nuts and ... pine cones..." She groaned and leaned back against him. "That feels so good."

He slipped his arms around her and cupped her breasts, bending to nuzzle her neck. She reached one arm back until she could stroke the back of his head, then turned her upper body and lifted her face to his. As their lips met and the tips of their tongues danced, Spock massaged the full globes in his hands and was rewarded as she moaned into his mouth.

He shifted their positions until Christine lay cradled in the crook of his left arm, her hips across his lap, then he let his right hand slide down her belly to the thick patch of hair at the juncture of her thighs. Obligingly, she spread her legs apart for him, giving a little gasp as the hot water invaded her most sensitive parts. Then his fingers were there as well, stroking and gently probing, massaging and teasing. Christine closed her eyes and threw her head back, sinking completely into the blissful, rapturous sensations. She slid her hand up over his chest and found the hard little nipple amidst the wiry hair, its rigid nature echoing the larger erection she was feeling against her buttocks, and with delight she began to tweak and roll the nub beneath her fingertips.

He bent to kiss her again, his tongue pushing full into her mouth, and his own fingers slipped lower, finding her opening and plunging inside, moving rapidly in and out. Christine bucked and pinched his nipple harder, mimicking his actions, her tongue dueling with his as their open mouths crushed against one another, sweet and bruising. Finally they both backed off, breathing hard, and returned to gentler caresses.

Beneath her thigh, she could feel the hard shaft of his penis pressing into her, pulsing in its eagerness, and she moved out of his embrace, turning her back to him. Her legs splayed on either side of his lap, spreading her wide, and immediately she felt his hungry rod leap into place, the tip unerringly finding her vagina. For a second, Spock was caught unprepared for this unorthodox maneuver of hers, then he grasped her waist and pulled her down upon him in one hard move. Both of them gasped at the sudden and wondrous impalement, then she braced her hands on his knees and began to ride him, her hips moving back and forth in an ever-increasing rhythm.

He slipped his hands up her torso to find her heavy breasts once again, kneading and compressing as she rocked against him. Milk squeezed from the distended nipples and dripped into the water, but neither noticed, lost in the building ecstasy of imminent orgasm. He was thrusting up into her now, the water around them roiling in a steaming storm, and with one last surge upward, he came, filling her with a blast at least as hot as the fluid in which they sat.

After a long, wonderful moment, he leaned back, taking her with him, clutched against his body, her legs still spread wide across his lap and his still-firm erection buried deep within her. They rested in this position for a long time, then he let himself slip out of her and the two of them lolled in the blissful heat, immersed up to their necks as they lay back against the bank.

"Ohh, I could go to sleep right here," Christine sighed, entwining her fingers with his beneath the water.

"It _is_ very pleasant," he agreed, his eyes closed as the heated water lapped about his chin.

"You knew I needed this, didn't you?" she smiled. "All of it." She squeezed his hand meaningfully.

"I needed it as well," he murmured. They were silent for a long time and Christine found herself dozing. Glancing at her husband, she found that Spock's face had relaxed into peaceful lines, his lips slightly parted as he breathed easily through his mouth. She jiggled his hand to wake him up.

"Hey, don't you go to sleep," she chuckled. "I don't want to wake up in the morning to the headlines 'Vulcan drowns in bathtub! Wife distraught!'"

He didn't open his eyes. "That is quite illogical, Christine. There are no newsvids here, thus there would be no headlines. In any case, I am not asleep and I will not drown, so you have no cause for distress."

"Maybe you really need waking up," she threatened direly and shifted onto her side, her hand going down to grasp the now flaccid organ that hovered just below the surface.

He leaped in shock, then turned to peer at her, his brows going up. "Perhaps the headlines should read 'Vulcan dies of heart attack at hands of insatiable wife'," he said.

"'Vulcan fucked to death by insatiable wife,'" she grinned back, beginning to pump his rapidly hardening shaft. She could feel it pulsing as blood pumped into it and the organ lengthened and swelled against her palm.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and thoroughly, her stroking bringing him completely and fully erect. "'Insatiable wife arouses Vulcan beyond any control'," he growled against her lips. "Put your arms around my neck."

She did so immediately and he lifted her from the water, moving her up onto the bank before laying her down and sinking between her legs. At once, he found what he sought and buried his throbbing erection hilt-deep into the hot, tight sheath of her body. He was nearly beyond control and pounded into her with a force that jarred her with each impact. She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his hips, and crying out in ecstasy. Through their bond, she could feel the fire within him, the flame of a fully aroused Vulcan male claiming his mate, and it set her ablaze as well.

At last the furor of his thrusts slowed, although their intensity increased, and she could hear his breath coming with a grunt of effort next to her ear. Her nails dug into his rigid back, feeling every vein and ridge of his rock-hard shaft as he slammed into her — three, four, five times more. Then he gave a guttural cry and froze, and she felt her depths flooded with the pulsing force of his eruption. It sent her spiraling over the edge as well and for an endless time she was lying not at the brim of a snowbound pond, but nestled in a bed of red Vulcan sands, burning and silken against her skin, baking her to the core with their heat and caress.

Then Spock gave a great sigh and collapsed against her, spent. They lay in each others' arms until both began to shiver, coming back to reality. "We must get back to the cabin," he said in a hoarse whisper. "We will catch pneumonia if we stay here in the cold."

She nodded and released him. He rose and retrieved their clothing and furs, rubbing them both hurriedly dry before they redressed. As they made their way quickly back up the snow trail toward their cabin, Christine smiled up at him, her breath coming in a plume, and said, "Funny, I'm not tired at all anymore. I feel like I could go ten rounds with you tonight!"

Spock shook his head and urged her on toward the cabin. "Insatiable!" he commented, almost to himself.

* * *

Christine straightened and pushed her hands into the small of her back, popping out the kinks in her backbone. "What is going on out there?" she asked, almost rhetorically.

Spock turned to see what she meant. Christine was looking out to sea where a great flock of seabirds were diving repeatedly into a small area not far offshore. The birds seemed almost frenzied in their actions.

"Are they attacking something?" she asked.

The family was gathered on the beach, searching for clams and crabs caught in tidal pools. Jenny was spending her time collecting seashells and the baby was strapped to Christine's back underneath her fur parka. The early snow had long since melted away, but the wind off the ocean was chill and left no doubt that winter still held the land in its grips.

Sapel came up to join his parents, also puzzled by the strange behavior of the seabirds. "I think they're fishing," he said. "I think there's a shoal of fish out there."

"You could be right," Spock agreed.

As they watched dolphins began leaping out of the water and thrashing the waves into a foam. There was something sparkling like effervescent bubbles, too, all about the spot. The Vulcan shaded his eyes with his hand and strained to see. "There are fish there!" he stated. "Lots of them! They're jumping out of the water to get away from the dolphins."

"That's not doing them any good," Christine answered. "They're caught between the dolphins and the birds. Oh, my God, look at that!!"

Something else had come shooting up out of the water — a long thin neck with a serpent head attached. It snapped with blinding speed at the flashing little fish, then dived down below the waves again.

"It's a sea monster!" Christine exclaimed. "We haven't seen any of those things since Sapel was little!" She shuddered, remembering how close they had come to losing their son to one of the vicious ocean-going reptiles.

"Obviously they are back in these waters," Spock replied. "We shall have to be more cautious when we come down to the beach now. I do not think they will bother us since the only time we saw them come ashore was when the seals were here, but nevertheless..."

Sapel was watching with wide eyes. He had vivid memories of the time one of the plesiosaurs had nearly caught him on the beach and he had the scars on his right foot to prove it. Surreptitiously, he edged farther away from the waterline.

But Christine still had her gaze locked on the plethora of fish and the carnage going on a quarter mile off shore. They had been only marginally successful in their search for food, scouring the countryside for anything edible. Spock and Sapel had brought home meat regularly, but there was still an edge of hunger that never went away. All of them had grown steadily thinner as the winter progressed and their hunt for food had brought them to the seashore, where they harvested whatever they could find — clams, crabs, seaweed, rock-clingers, and little lobster-like crustaceans. Now Christine was looking at a bounty of food, all of it just out of their reach.

"Spock..." she mused speculatively. "Can you make a boat?"

* * *

"Christine, I said no and that is the end of this discussion!"

Spock's gaze was level and deadly. She had seen the same expression of finality boring through miscreant junior officers who dared to presume upon the First Officer's authority. Or maybe it was a Vulcan husband's authority she was facing. Either way, all of his granite-hard stubbornness had kicked into high gear and she knew she could not win this one.

"Okay, okay. Don't get your shorts in a twist," she sighed and turned away.

There was a few seconds of silence then, "My shorts? Christine, I am not wearing shorts."

It was the note that broke the tension. She burst out laughing. "Never mind," she answered when she could talk again. "Lord!" She turned back to him, grinning.

Spock had that perpetually befuddled look on his face again and that sent her back into gales of laughter. This response only caused an eyebrow to soar higher and she had to lean against a tree for support. Crossing his arms, this time his brows lowered over deep brown eyes growing annoyed.

"I'm sorry," Christine finally gasped and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. You're right. As always. I don't suppose the boat idea was a very good one."

"It is merely a highly impractical one," her husband replied, arms still crossed. He continued to peer at her as if expecting a total collapse from mirth. "As I told you, the only two sort of watercraft I might be able to construct are a dugout canoe or a raft. Neither would be seaworthy and, in any case, I do not possess the skills to build such a craft. Even if I did, I would not trust either one on the open water with the plesiosaurs and who knows what other beasts out there."

"Well, it was just an idea," Christine said, moving her gaze out to the water where there was still evidence of a huge shoal of fish. "All I was thinking about was how we could tap into that food source just out of our reach."

"I will give it further thought," Spock promised.

And indeed he did. For much of the day, he sat on a rock on the upper reaches of the sand and stared out to sea. It was a reasonably warm day for winter and Christine brought the children down to the waterline to hunt for crabs and other crustaceans in the tide pools while Spock kept a watch. It had become a valuable source of protein for them, along with the occasional small fish or turtle-like creatures stranded there. Other things they had learned to leave alone. Christine had developed a litmus test using Scruffy. If the hunting cat wouldn't touch it, neither would they!

Today, Christine had set her collecting basket right at the water's edge as she waded into the water and bent to pluck mollusks from their hiding places in the sand, tossing them into the basket as she unearthed them. A larger than normal wave surged up the sand and retreated, floating the basket up and taking it back out with it.

"Whoa! No, you don't!" Christine exclaimed and splashed after the floating reed basket, which had flopped over onto its side. She grabbed it and dragged it back to her, filling the container with water. As she lifted it to pour the water out, she laughed suddenly and reached into it, pulling out a nice-sized silverside! The fish wriggled to get free, but the woman stated, "No way, my lovely! You're going to be dinner tonight!"

She plopped the fish back into the basket and waded back to shore, triumphant in her unexpected treasure. And up on his rock seat, Spock straightened and both brows went up in sudden revelation.

* * *

Thigh-deep in the chilly water, Spock paid out the rope line until he had several loops in his left hand, then hefted the oblong basket in his right. It had taken a month of work and experimentation, but finally he had perfected his idea. Christine had woven a funnel-shaped basket out of reeds, loose enough to allow water to flow through easily, but sturdy enough to hold their catch. Around the rim, he had interlaced one end of a long rope he had made out of water-resistant plant fibers. He'd originally used the braided leather of the travois harness, but the leather stretched and tore when sodden. To give the fishing basket weight and keep it from merely floating on the surface, Spock had attached several apple-sized stones from the beach.

Now, he was ready to put his plan into full operation. On shore, Christine had built a bonfire to ward off the chill, and she and the children stood watching the tall Vulcan as he waded out into the gentle surf as far as he felt comfortable.

Spock began to swing the weighted basket over his head until he had built up sufficient momentum, then let it fly, allowing the rope loops to pay out. The basket soared a good distance, then plopped into the sea and gently sank below the surface.

Spock began to pull it back toward him, careful not to put too much tension on the rope line. When it came within range, he seized it and lifted out of the water, the water pouring through its woven sides.

There were six medium-sized fish flopping around inside it, not a spectacular catch, but a good start. He waded back to shore and was met by Christine, who peered eagerly inside the basket.

She gave a happy little squeal. "It worked!"

"I had little doubt that it would," Spock answered nonchalantly. "It was simply a matter of perfecting the system."

She slapped him on the shoulder. "Smart ass! Here, dump those in this basket and see if you can catch some more."

He smiled and did as told, moving back into the water. By midday, they had three dozen fish of varying sizes and species, and Spock was frozen to the bone. He came back to the fire and stripped off his water-logged breeches and moccasins, changing into the dry clothing ready for him. Christine handed him a mug of steaming tea and put a fur blanket around his shoulders, urging him near the fire. Sapel and Jenny were warming themselves near the blaze, but Christine had the baby underneath her parka, as usual. She still was taking no chances that little T'Kai become chilled.

"We'll cook a few of these right now and the rest we'll hang to dry," the woman said, beginning to sort through the catch.

Scruffy was nosing around the catch and Christine watched the cat. Twice the animal wrinkled her nose in disgust and Christine promptly threw those two fish back into the water. As a reward, she let Scruffy have two or three of the smallest fish and the hunting cat happily carried them a little ways down the beach before settling down and beginning to delicately tear off the flesh with her front teeth, holding the fish between her paws.

Spock cradled the mug between both hands and sipped at the nearly scalding liquid, feeling its warmth slide down his insides and fill him with heat. "I am pleased we were successful," he said, watching his wife and son beginning to gut and clean their catch. "This should significantly ease the problem of finding food."

"Yes," Christine replied, laying out a few cleaned fish onto heated stones by the fire to cook. "We still can't reach the shoals that are offshore, but this is enough."

"I do not believe that the big shoals are there any longer," Spock observed. T'Jenn came up and climbed into his lap, snuggling under the furs and reaching for the tea. "It is very hot, Jenny. Sip it very, very carefully." He held the mug as his little daughter took a taste.

"Yi!! Too hot, Papa!" she exclaimed.

"I just warned you of that," he replied. "Allow it cool and then you may have some more." He turned his attention back to Christine. "I have not observed the level of activity that was evident a month ago. I believe that was merely a migration."

"Hmm, you could be right," she answered, flipping the cooking fish over. "But there's lot of food out there anyway. I just hope the sea monsters have moved on, too."

"I have not seen any for about ten days. I think they were following the migration." Spock gave his daughter another little sip of tea. "It must be late winter by now," he mused, thinking out loud. "In about a month or so, the sea birds will begin to arrive for nesting. We will be able to have fresh eggs once more. We will need to begin planning the trip back north about then."

Christine nodded. "I think we can stay as late as the beginning of April. I don't like to start north too early. I don't want to risk a late spring snow." She tested the fish and turned them once more. "And I want to make sure Kai-Kai is strong enough for the journey." Lovingly, she patted the warm little bundle nestled against her breasts.

"Of course," Spock answered. "We will wait as long as we can. I only wish that we were able to stay in one place and not be subjected to this nomadic life." He sighed and looked out to sea. "We do not seem to be able to find a happy medium."

His gaze became introspective. "At times, I wish I had not destroyed the crashed Romulan ship we found. It was by far the most comfortable place we had on this planet."

Christine turned her eyes on her husband for a long moment and was struck by how much he had aged since they were stranded here eleven years before. The lines on his angular features had deepened and there were strands of silver in the long, jet black hair blowing about his face. She felt her heart go out to him, remembering the truly inhuman effort he had put into keeping them alive.

"Spock-love, we weren't meant to be comfortable here, remember," she said softly. "We were left here to die. It's only been through sheer determination and refusal to comply that any of us are still alive and kicking." He met her gaze and his dark eyes filled with his love for her. For a very long moment, they were silent, communing without speaking. Then she broke the connection and looked down. "Well, these fish are ready. Who's hungry?"

"Me!" piped up Sapel at once, followed closely by T'Jenn from Spock's arms.

As the family tucked in to the fresh, hot meal, the sea wind picked up a little bit, making the waves choppier and tipped with foam. Far off-shore, sea birds dived and surfaced with silver fish in their beaks, and a mottled hump appeared then sank with a splash before the long head and neck it belonged to appeared and gulped down its own catch of fish.

* * *

The day had been quiet, the evening quieter. Spock had spent it twisting and rolling rope from the mounds of reed fiber he had been preparing for weeks now. He hoped to try weaving it into fishnet and lengths of line for the fishing baskets they'd been using. In another month, they would begin the move north and their lifestyle would change yet again, back to following the herds on the plains as the animals migrated with the spring weather until they reached their summer grazing grounds near Valley Home. The reed ropes would change purpose as well, as travois harness and to truss kills for transport.

Sapel and T'Jenn had been with Christine most of the day in their constant and never‑ending search for food. They had come back with only a few shriveled fruits left over from the previous year and a basket full of tree cones, about enough to yield one day's food. The dried fish they'd been eating was all that was saving them from starvation, and if any of them were sick to death of it, none dared complain. It was very nearly all they had. Hunting brought in small game and birds, but by this time of year, the local hunting was poor. Spock had begun to contemplate taking Sapel on a hunt for forest deer, although they were sure to be in the deepest thickets and densest brush, waiting out the last of winter.

Still, he was not discouraged. The sea birds would begin nesting within the next month and that would mean fresh eggs and tender chicks for the stewpot. Meanwhile, they had enough to see them through.

His back and shoulders aching from the hours of braiding rope, Spock gave it up for the day. It was bedtime and the two older children had already retired to the rock overhang at the rear of the cabin where their bed furs were spread. Christine was breastfeeding the fast-fading baby, finally detaching the little mouth from her nipple and placing T'Kai into the low crib near the warmth of the hearth.

Her last child asleep, Christine sighed and covered her breast with her tunic. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to hit the hay myself!"

"I have never understood that idiom," Spock relied, putting away the rope making materials. "Why would anyone desire to strike harvested grass?"

"Oh, shut up," his wife retorted. "You know perfectly well what it means." Then she saw the twinkle of mischief in the dark Vulcan eyes and her lips quirked into a grin. "I think we should both ... um ... strike the grass."

"Indeed."

Spock banked the fire and blew out the twisted grass wicks on the several small oil lamps on their low table, then undressed and slipped between the furs. Christine yawned and turned on her side with her back to him and Spock nestled against her, slipping his arm over her waist.

"That feels good," she murmured. "How about some wild and crazy sex?" He only made a sound deep in his throat, already sinking into sleep. After a few seconds, she said muzzily, "Ahh... was it good for you? It was good for me."

"Christine, sometimes I seriously worry about you," he mumbled without opening his eyes. She chuckled softly then silence settled over the cabin, save for the quiet breathing of its occupants and the occasional snap of the embers in the hearth.

* * *

His internal clock told him that it was well after midnight when Spock came suddenly awake. Without moving, he listened intently for what had brought him up out of sleep, then it came again ... a muted moan from the rear of the cabin. Then he heard Sapel get up and make his way toward the door.

"Sapel? What is wrong?" Spock asked quietly so as not to waken Christine.

"It's okay, Papa," the boy's voice answered from the darkness. "I just gotta go to the latrine."

"Are you ill?"

"No, I'm okay. I just gotta go."

"Do you have your knife?"

"Yes, Papa. I'm fine."

The door opened and closed and Spock settled back down, half awake and listening for his son's return. When fifteen minutes had passed, the Vulcan opened his eyes and lifted his head, but the night was silent. Concerned, he moved carefully away from his sleeping wife and got up, pulled on his clothes and shoes, and went out to check on Sapel, catching up his hunting spear which was leaning against the wall beside the door.

Outside, the night was frosty and still, the woods around the cabin lit by the three small moons in the last quarter of their cycle. Patchy clouds skimmed across their faces, pushed by high altitude winds out of the north. The moons had faint rings around them, signs of ice crystals aloft. There was a winter storm on its way.

His breath fogging in front of his lips, Spock listened for a moment, then started down the path to the latrine, which lay about two hundred yards downhill and to the side of the cabin. Then he spotted an object on the ground and quickened his pace.

It was Sapel, lying in a fetal position, his loin cloth and pants around his thighs and both hands clutching his groin. The boy looked up with anguished features as his father dropped to one knee beside him. "It won't stop, Papa!" he exclaimed. "It won't stop!"

"When did this begin?" Spock asked anxiously, recognizing immediately his son's condition. The boy was clutching his penis, which was swollen into a tight erection. Even as he spoke, Sapel groaned and his abdomen spasmed, forcing a thick gout of clear liquid from the organ.

"I started hurting about an hour ago," Sapel answered, breathing heavily. "I thought I just had to go real bad. Then I got down here and it got so hard I couldn't stand it! It started squirting and I can't get it to stop!" There was panic in the boy's voice.

"Remain calm," Spock told him gently. "There is nothing to be frightened about. You are undergoing the _plak-yuk-tor'a_. The Awakening of the Blood. Humans call it puberty. In Vulcans, the onset is sudden and can be painful for a short time. Take a deep breath and try to relax."

Sapel shut his eyes and pulled in several deep breaths. After a few moments, he seemed less tense.

"Good," Spock said. "Now, I am going to help you adjust your blood pressure and cause the erection to go away." He set his fingers onto his son's face and closed his eyes, seeking the boy's psi pathways. For several minutes, the two were motionless as Spock's psyche slipped into Sapel's and gently adjusted fluid levels and mental reactions.

When Spock broke the mind meld, Sapel lay limply on the ground, no longer in distress. "Stand up now." He helped Sapel get to his feet and readjust his clothing. "Tomorrow I will begin to teach you the techniques for control, but now it is time to return to bed. You will not be troubled any farther tonight."

Spock laid a steadying hand on Sapel's shoulder and guided him back to the cabin. Sapel was stumbling with sleep by the time they arrived and Spock helped him to undress and slip back between his sleeping furs. Sapel was asleep instantly and his father sighed with weariness and returned to his own bed.

Christine was waiting for him, no longer asleep. "What's the matter?" she asked as her husband settled himself next to her. "What's wrong with Sapel? Is he sick?"

"Our son has taken the next step into manhood," Spock answered tiredly. "He has Awakened."

"Well, I know he was awake, but what happened?"

"No, he is undergoing sexual Awakening. Puberty. In Vulcans it can happen suddenly and result in uncontrollable ejaculations. If he were Bonded to a mate, she would also undergo a like reaction."

"Did that happen to you?" Christine asked softly, concern in her voice.

"Yes. I was seventeen. I had an uncontrollable urge to go to T'Pring and she had the same need of me. Very seldom, however, is consummation allowed to occur, because this is not _pon farr_. My father did as was customary and sent me to the _reldai_ on Mt. Seleya for training in the techniques of sexual control. If we were at home ... back in Federation space, I mean ... I would do the same for Sapel."

Christine lifted herself up on one elbow and peered down at him in the darkness. "You mean your father sent you to sex school?!"

"It is hardly that, Christine," he responded, looking faintly scandalized. "It is a seldom discussed but integral part of Vulcan society. We must learn all aspects of control, both emotional and physical, in order to function in a disciplined civilization. Humans often view Vulcans as prudish and asexual beings, but this is not accurate. We simply learn at an early age to control our sexual aspects until such time as it is proper to join with our bondmates."

"Well, we're not on Vulcan and Sapel doesn't have a bondmate," she pointed out. "How are we going to handle this without him turning into a raving sex maniac?"

"I have spent a significant time considering this," Spock answered thoughtfully. "I shall take him away from here to a private place and teach him what I was taught. It will not be perfect but, under the circumstances, it is the best we can do. Go back to sleep now. There is nothing more we can do until morning."

She sighed and settled down into his embrace, slipping her arm across his chest and nestling against his shoulder. "How can he be grown up already?" she whispered. "It was only yesterday that he was a baby."

"He is a long way from being grown up," Spock answered in the same slightly wistful tone. "But, yes, time does seem to have a way of passing much, much too quickly."

* * *

It had been eight days since Spock and Sapel had left on their journey into the wilderness with the dual purpose of slaying both a forest deer and Sapel's personal demons. The day after their departure, a late winter storm had blown into the area, howling winds and snow flurries confining the women of the family to the snug cabin for a few days, then relenting as the winds turned back to the south and spring once again held sway.

Today was warm in the sunshine and out of the wind, enough so that Christine was taking advantage of the nice weather on this late afternoon. Soon she'd have to give it up and go in, for the temperature dropped once the sun had set, but right now it was too nice outside to pass up this chance for some fresh air. She had set up her tanning frame outside, working on the preserved hides of the small animals they'd killed over the winter, particularly on a pair of matching rabbit skins that would make good shoes for T'Jenn. T'Kai, wrapped snugly in rabbit furs, was in her basket at her mother's side. Seven months old now, she was beginning to put on weight and was pushing herself up on her forearms, looking with interest at the new world around her, her elfin face alight with wonder.

Jenny was nearby, contentedly playing "mother" by practicing punching holes in a scrap piece of leather with a blunted antler awl, then threading rawhide lacing through the holes. She had her own baby beside her, a doll made of a whittled wooden knob and draped in an old fur "dress". Whenever Christine would check on T'Kai, Jenny would imitate her movements by cuddling the crude doll.

Christine paused to smile fondly at her little daughter. Jenny reminded her of a long ago time when Christine had been a little girl in Ohio, playing on the living room rug at her grandparents' home, mothering a rag doll that had been Nanny's. The memory tightened the woman's heart, for she wondered if she'd ever see her home again, her sisters or her friends back on Earth. Did they all think her dead? She didn't see how they could still believe she was alive, after all this time.

The soft sound of crunching dry leaves brought her attention abruptly back to her surroundings and Christine looked up to see her husband and son emerging from the woods, a long pole slung between them, the carcass of a deer swinging below it.

Jenny jumped to her feet and raced toward them. "Papa! Papa!" She hurled herself against Spock's thigh and clung with all her might, forcing him to stop where he was.

Looking tired but happy, Spock reached down to ruffle his daughter's tangled brown hair. "Hello, _t'cha'i_. Have you been helping Mama while we were gone?"

"Yeah! You know what?! We saw birds over on the cliff! They was building nests!!"

"Indeed! That is good news," Spock replied, glancing up to see Christine approaching. "You must tell me about it tonight." He greeted his wife with a light kiss, then hefted the carry pole. "Please allow us to get rid of this load, if you don't mind, _t'hy'la_. It is quite heavy and Sapel is on his last legs."

"I can see," Christine answered and moved toward her son. "You want me to carry it, baby?"

The boy straightened and strength seemed to flow back into his slim body. "No, Mama. I can do it." There was a new maturity in his young face, a gravity that made him look more like his father than ever before.

Christine backed off. Something had definitely occurred during their sojourn, because Sapel was not the same as the person who had left eight days before. He was a man now; she could see it in his dark brown eyes.

She allowed the two hunters to proceed and they carried their prize down slope a ways until they reached the area that generally served for butchering. There, they set it down, removed the carry pole, and rearranged the tie-ropes so that the back legs were secured. Then Spock threw the rope over the high limb of a tree and hoisted the buck up so that no prowling predator could reach it. They'd butcher it tomorrow. Then he and Sapel returned, their weariness showing.

Christine hugged and thoroughly kissed both of them, then shooed them down the path toward the hot spring with instructions to wash and get ready for supper. She had cut off a chunk of shoulder meat before Spock raised up the deer carcass and she set this to roasting over the hearth. As Christine settled T'Kai onto her rug near the warmth of the fire, Jenny was jumping up and down.

"Wanna go with Papa and Pel!"

"No, honey, you stay with me. Papa and Sapel are really tired. You help me with supper, okay? They'll be back in a little bit."

"No! Wanna see Pel!"

"T'Jenn, don't make me have to put you in the calm down corner," her mother warned and the threat of time-out made the four-year-old settle down a bit. Her lower lip stuck out in protest, but the little girl behaved. "That's better. Now, can you wash those roots for me? Get them good and clean now."

Grudgingly T'Jenn took a bowl of water and began to scrub half-heartedly at the long red tubers that would be roasted in the embers until they split open and their orange pulp softened. By the time Christine was ready to bury the tubers in the fire, Jenny had gotten bored with food preparation and had moved back to her sleeping area where she sat playing with her doll and sulking.

Christine let her be and finished up the meal.

* * *

It was while Spock and Sapel were bringing in firewood the next day that Christine noticed the partially healed scar on Sapel's left forearm. The processing of the deer carcass had begun, cut into strips and hung on a rack to be smoked and dried into jerky. Lots of wood was needed to keep the long, slow fire burning and the two men of the family had been busy all morning, cutting, chopping and hauling wood back to the homesite.

By early afternoon, the sun had climbed and the temperature warmed to the point that Sapel had worked up a good sweat and had shed his shirt. Spock wasn't that warm, although he took no notice of his son's half-stripped condition.

As they dumped another load of wood on the pile, Christine grabbed Sapel's arm and pulled him toward her. "What happened here?" she asked, both mother and nurse coming to the forefront. "Did you cut yourself?"

Sapel jerked his arm free. "It's nothing, Ma. Don't worry about it."

She caught it again quickly. "Let me look at that."

"Ma—"

"Hush." Christine examined the wound with a critical eye. Diagonally across the back of Sapel's forearm, just above the wrist, were three small, neat cuts, about four inches long. It looked as if they had been made with a knife and that it had been done deliberately. Furthermore, black ash had been rubbed into the cut so that it became a tattoo, now scabbed over and well on its way to healing.

"What is this?" Christine demanded. "Did you do this?!"

"I did it," Spock's quiet voice interrupted. "I will explain to your mother, Sapel. Go back to your work."

The boy again pulled away and hurried off. After watching him go, Christine glared up at her husband. "You cut him? What's wrong with you, Spock?!"

"Do not upset yourself," he answered, his voice still quiet and low. "I did it as a focusing tool for Sapel. He was having trouble learning to control his blood flow and turn his mind away from his sexual urges. I remembered an ancient technique in such training."

"But to cut him—"

Spock sighed and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his leather-gloved hand. "Christine, it didn't hurt him. A small cut on his arm gave him a point on which to focus and concentrate on stopping the bleeding. Once he learned to do that, to stop the blood flow to the wound, he could do the same thing to his genitals, to control an erection."

"Why did you rub ashes in the wound though?" she asked, plainly puzzled.

"As a sign of his passage through his Awakening," her husband replied. "It will be the badge that he is now a man, both for him and all others to see."

"Like scarification or circumcision at puberty in some tribes," she guessed.

"Yes. I do not normally, as a Vulcan, hold with the mutilation of the body, but this was a special case. I felt that Sapel needed something tangible to use as a control device. You have also probably noticed the small leather pouch he is now wearing around his neck?"

She had indeed, but hadn't paid any attention to it. "Now that you mention it. Spock ... is it a ... medicine bag?"

"Yes. An idea borrowed from the First Nations peoples of your planet. I remembered that Lt. Yellow Elk of engineering wore one at all times. It was his right as a symbol of his religious beliefs. I simply adapted its use for Sapel. It contains a small flake of obsidian that was used to make the cut on his arm, plus a small patch of leather that was soaked in his blood. What he adds to the pouch, or even if he does, is now his private business."

Christine could not hold back a wry, admiring smile. "I'm impressed! I think you may have just started a tradition or something here."

"I am uncertain about that," the Vulcan responded, although he looked pleased with his wife's approval. "I merely improvised."

"So, tell me. What all did you tell him? What did you talk about while you were away?"

Spock held up one hand to interrupt her. "No. That is private between Sapel and myself. What we discussed is confidential."

"But I'm his mother!" Christine protested.

"Yes. But sometimes the things a son discusses with his father are meant to go no further." He gave her a meaningful look then said, "And now I must get back to wood cutting." And with that, he turned to follow Sapel, leaving his wife a bit frustrated and rife with curiosity.

* * *

The warm spring breeze ruffled Spock's long black hair as he stood on the promontory looking out to sea. Overhead and across the water, flocks of sea birds, white with ebony-tipped wings, whirled in seeming madness, crying raucously, diving, courting, and beginning their soaring spirals again. The promontory dropped about fifty feet to the crashing waves below. Here, there was no beach to speak of, a fact favored by the sea birds because it limited predators from reaching their nests. And now, as spring took full hold, the nesting season had begun and soon the cliff niches would be filled with chicks.

The new season was beginning again for his own family, Spock reflected. It was early April and the warm weather would be progressing steadily north. It was almost time for their own journey back to Valley Home. They had learned the hard way that it was impossible to spend the summer months by the sea. Once spring took firm hold, the marshes to their east and west loosed vast clouds of mosquito-like insects, all ravenous and in search of anything with blood that could be sucked into their tiny bodies.

Fish, fowl, reptile or mammal, all were attacked indiscriminately. Of course, the birds and fish and even other insects fought back by congregating in profusion along the shore area and there they all feasted on the feasters. This in turn brought animals higher up the food chain to feast in turn until the predator chain finally culminated with the most fearsome of all, the ocean-going plesiosaurs which preyed on the big fish, dolphins and seals. Only the leviathans were larger but they, like the baleen whales of Earth, seemed to feed on plankton and shrimp and thus were harmless.

Of the marine mammals, the seals would be coming soon, too, crowding the beaches and giving birth to this year's pups, and that would add an army of biting black flies to the mix. They too found Humans and Vulcans as tasty as did the mosquitos, but the flies also fed on seal offal and birth debris, and thus were carriers of untold types of germs.

Spock shuddered at the very thought. No, he concluded, it was vastly better to make the journey north, leading his family out of the potentially deadly swarms long before spring here erupted in all its complex fury. There were insects enough to battle on the northern plains, but none of them were as bad as the plagues unleashed by the marshes every year.

"Credit for your thoughts," a voice interrupted him and Spock turned to see Christine join him, baby T'Kai perched on her hip and T'Jenn picking wild flowers nearby.

"I was just pondering the trip north," he answered and reached out to take his younger daughter from his wife.

Christine gave the baby over to him gladly and pressed her palms into the small of her back, popping out the kinks.

"Thanks. She's getting heavy."

Spock cradled the infant against his shoulder and savored her sweet baby smell. "She is growing well now," he replied and paused for a few seconds to lay his fingers against the fine black silk of T'Kai's hair. A curious intellect, just forming, tickled at his delicate probe and the child made a gurgling sound in recognition. She would have high psi abilities, he thought. He'd have to plan the training of those abilities when she was a bit older. Sapel had a fairly high telepathic sense, too, but T'Jenn had proved to be mind-blind. She was the most purely Human of the three children as well as the most impulsive and independent.

"So…" Christine prodded him. "When do you want to leave?"

"In approximately two weeks, I believe. We should begin getting our supplies together and preparing to close the cabin. If the weather holds, that will give us sufficient time."

T'Jenn ran up with a handful of white and yellow flowers. "Look!" she exclaimed. "Pretty!"

Christine knelt down and made a show of delight at the flowers. "Mmmm — they smell good, too! See if you can find some more."

"Okay!" The little girl laughed happily and ran to look for other early-blooming plants.

"Stay away from the edge!" her mother commanded. Christine kept a wary eye on her daughter then turned back to Spock. "How is Sapel doing? If I ask him, he just says 'fine' and clams up."

Spock glanced at her and lifted a wry eyebrow. "He is 'fine'."

Christine slapped his arm. "Don't you start! I'm serious."

"He is progressing quite well with his meditation and control exercises," Spock answered. "I know it is hard for a boy to learn to take command of his body when sexual urges overtake him, but he is strong."

Christine was silent for a moment and gazed out to sea. "I saw him masturbating the other day," she said quietly.

"Yes," her husband answered in an equally quiet voice. "I told him that, if all his exercises failed and he could find relief no other way, it was acceptable to self-stimulate in private."

"There are cultures where that is considered a perversion, you know," Christine pointed out. "I know some worlds where they cut your hand off if you get caught touching yourself."

"I am aware of that," he responded. "On the other hand — no pun intended — there are worlds, such as Delta, where open sexual expression is completely accepted and expected."

"And what about on Vulcan?" she asked rather pointedly.

Spock paused and shifted the baby to his other shoulder. "We are essentially a very private people, as you know," he finally replied. "Our sexual lives are kept strictly behind closed doors. Self-stimulation is frowned upon, but it is impossible to say how much of it actually occurs. I am sure much goes on in private that would be totally denied in public."

Christine made a small sound of assent. "I agree. It's that way on Earth, too. I told you once that my mother was very religious. She thought masturbation would send you straight to hell. She called it the sin of Onan."

"Onan?" Spock repeated. "I do not understand the reference."

"Oh, there's a verse somewhere in the Old Testament. A man named Onan, instead of having good old normal sex, jacked himself off and 'spilled his seed upon the ground.' He was condemned for it."

"Highly illogical," Spock observed.

"Yeah, but there are a lot of things in the Bible that we think are highly illogical, but others take as the literal command of God." Christine switched her attention abruptly. "Jenny! Move away from the edge! NOW!"

"Birdies!" the child protested, pointing to the swooping gulls.

"Right now, missy!"

Grumbling, the child went back to her flower picking.

Christine sighed and resumed her conversation with her husband. "There's another problem I don't know how to deal with," she said hesitantly. "What happens when Sapel goes into _pon farr_? There is no one here for him except the girls."

"I know," Spock replied, his expression settling into one of dark reflection. "I have discussed that with him. We talked of it during our week away."

Christine's ears pricked. This was the first time Spock had let slip any of his conversations with their son. "And?" she prompted.

"I have told him that T'Jenn and T'Kai are strictly off limits to him," Spock went on. "However, logically, I admit I can see little alternative. A Human might be able to practice strict celibacy, as some of your religious renunciates do. However, the mating drive in a Vulcan is organic. Once _pon farr_ begins, a Vulcan must mate or die. There is no way around it."

"I know," she answered. "And what about the girls? When they grow up, will they have that same hormonal imperative?"

She sighed unhappily. "Spock, I just don't see any way to avoid it. We may be dead and it's just Sapel and the girls left. We can forbid them as long as we're able, but I think it's going to happen eventually."

Spock hung his head, his features grim. "I fear you are correct. But we must do our best to prevent it until there is absolutely no way to avoid the facts of nature."

That seemed to end their discussion and the two stood silently, watching the sea birds. Some of the gulls swung low over their position, crying shrilly.

T'Jenn laughed and leaped to touch them. "Birdies!" she squealed.

"Jenny — I said don't get too close—"

The child made a convulsive jump to grab at a particularly low flying gull and landed on the very edge of the rocky cliff.

"Jenn!" screamed Christine and launched herself to seize her daughter's arm.

But the edge gave way at the same instant and Jenny disappeared with a terrified shriek.

"Here!" Spock shoved T'Kai back into Christine's arms and flung himself down onto his stomach, peering anxiously over the edge. "Jenny!"

"Do you see her?! Jenny!"

"Jenny!" Spock called again, ignoring his wife and the frantic swirl of gulls swooping around them.

Spock was silent for a moment then said, "I see her. She's on a little ledge about halfway down."

"Is she all right?" Christine asked in a quavering voice.

"I can't tell. She appears to be unconscious."

Pounding footsteps announced the arrival of Sapel, spear in hand, alerted by the screams and ready to do battle. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Jenny, oh, Jenny!" was all his mother could get out, tears starting down her face as she stood clutching her baby close to her. A bit too close, perhaps, for T'Kai began to whimper in protest.

Christine didn't need to elaborate. Sapel instantly figured out what had happened and edged closer to his father, who was still peering over the precipice.

"Is she dead?" Sapel asked quietly so that Christine wouldn't hear.

"I don't believe so," Spock answered, equally quiet. "No. I just saw her move." He lay for a few minutes longer then directed his son, "Sapel, go back to the cabin and fetch that big coil of rope I've been working on. I believe it is long enough that we can reach her."

"Right. Anything else?"

"Better get your mother's medical kit, too. I cannot tell how badly T'Jenn may be injured."

The boy took off running and Christine crowded as close as she dared. "Spock?"

"She's alive," he assured her. "Jenny! Lie still, _t'chai_. Don't move!"

"We're coming to get you, baby!" Christine echoed. "Oh, God ... Oh, God..."

Spock did not chide her for invoking her deity. He was beseeching his Ancestors for strength and fortune as well.

It seemed forever before Sapel returned, laden not only with rope and medical bag, but T'Kai's sleeping basket. "Here, Ma," he said, kindly but quickly. "You can put her in here. She'll be okay."

Christine smiled gratefully at her son. She'd almost forgotten she was gripping her youngest in a death-defying hold.

Sapel began uncoiling the rope and paying it out. Spock sat up and reached for it, but Sapel jerked it away. "I'll get her, Papa."

"No, I'll—"

"I'm a better climber than you are, Pa," the boy insisted stubbornly. "I'm lighter, too. Besides, somebody's got to anchor this and pull us both up."

Seconds ticked by as father and son locked gazes, identical deep brown eyes intent on each other. Then Spock nodded and reached again for the rope, this time securing it around Sapel's chest and knotting it fast.

"Carry her if you can," the Vulcan instructed. "If not, tie the rope around her and I'll pull her up, then send it down again for you."

Sapel nodded and readied himself. Spock sat back and braced his bent legs, heels digging in to entrench himself, then he took a firm grip on the rope. Sapel backed cautiously to the edge, set himself, and lowered himself out of sight, Spock carefully paying out the line.

Christine had placed T'Kai in her basket a safe distance behind them and came to look for the first time down the dizzying height to the crashing sea far below. "Slowly, slowly," she directed her husband. "A little more..."

She could hear Jenny now, crying pitiably far below, in pain and fright. _Please, God_ , she prayed. _Let him get her. Let the rope hold. Oh, God, let him save her!_

* * *

For Sapel, the descent down the rock face seemed interminable. The twisted reed rope creaked ominously, competing with the shrieks of the disturbed gulls. The birds were doing more than flying around him now. They were attacking him, thinking him a predator after their nests. He could do nothing but endure their pecks and dives, keeping focused on his little sister perched on the tiny ledge below.

The cliff was not completely sheer, a fact that had saved her from plunging straight down to the water. Instead, she had slipped, bumped and slid down the layered limestone until finally coming to rest about thirty feet above the tiny, boulder-shrewn beach. But from here, there was no place to go but up or down. The ledge was going to be a tight squeeze.

He was just above her now and she was looking up at him with huge, tear-filled eyes. "Scoot over just a little bit, Jenny," he instructed and, when she complied, he lightly touched down on the ledge. "Okay! Stop!" he yelled up at his mother's anxious face peering over the edge and she relayed the message to Spock. The slack in the line went taut.

"Jenny, how bad are you hurt?" Sapel demanded, gingerly feeling over his sister's bruised, dirty form.

"My arm hurts," she said and he gently felt of that until she screamed in pain. Broken, he decided. She wouldn't be able to hang onto him.

Dismissing that possibility, Sapel quickly began untying the knot, fending off a diving gull as he did so. "I'm gonna tie this around her and Papa will pull you up," he said as he began fixing the rope around her chest, under her arms.

"No! Don't want to!" the little girl protested vehemently.

"It's the only way to get you up," he answered, tying the knot securely.

"No!!" she screamed.

Sapel ignored her and looked up at his mother, giving her a thumbs-up gesture. Christine said something to Spock and the rope began to move.

Jenny panicked, kicking and shrieking with all her might. Making a grab for her, Sapel's foot slipped off the edge and he frantically seized at the lifeline before he went over.

"Stop! Stop!" he heard Christine exclaim.

For a breathless moment, the children hung there, then Sapel regained his footing and caught his breath. This wasn't going to work, he thought frantically, his heart still pounding. But there wasn't any other way he could see.

And then he remembered something he'd glimpsed in his father's mind during one of the melds they'd experienced recently. It was an ancient Vulcan technique for incapacitating an enemy. He'd never done it himself, but the knowledge was as clear as if he'd practiced it many times.

Straightening, Sapel faced his terrified sister and said in a soothing voice, "This won't hurt, Jenny. You'll be okay in a minute."

Then he reached out and squeezed the nerves at the base of her neck. T'Jenn jerked and went rigid for about two seconds, then collapsed, unconscious.

"Pull her up!" Sapel shouted and the child was quickly hauled up the cliff face.

Watching her disappear over the cliff edge into the safety of his mother's arms, Sapel huddled close to the rock, acutely aware of how little room there was on the tiny ledge. Around him, sea birds swooped and the wind moaned, both threatening to loosen his tenuous hold before the rope was dropped back down to him.

Without warning, immediately below him, came a sound that raised the hair on the back of his neck. It was a scrambling, a click of snapping teeth, and the angry shrill of a beast right out of nightmare.

Falling back hard against the rock face, Sapel stared down in horror at the slender head that was straining toward him, perched on a sinuous, fifteen-foot neck. Far below, the bulbous ten-foot-long body was already out of the water, trying to get on top of the tumbled rocks to give it extra height, its four paddle-like limbs slipping as it fought for purchase. Just off-shore, two smaller plesiosaurs lurked, waiting for the big one to bring down the prey they had spotted. Its black, beady eyes intent on its victim, the huge sea beast lunged again and this time its needle-like teeth took a chunk out of the bottom of the ledge before it fell back.

"Ma!!" Sapel howled and drew his obsidian-bladed knife, ready to do battle.

* * *

Christine was just pulling the unconscious T'Jenn up into her arms when she heard Sapel's cry from below, underscored by a roar that was as primeval as anything she'd ever known. Quickly laying Jenny down flat on her back, Christine hurriedly peered over the edge of the cliff and screamed, "Oh, my God!"

The plesiosaur had made another attempt at seizing the boy and fallen back with an angry snarl. Sapel slashed at it, but didn't dare lean too far away from the rock face. Around them, the gulls were going berserk, diving and pecking at both of them, frantically trying to defend their nests.

Spock had already deduced his son's danger and was fumbling at the knot tied in the rope around Jenny's waist. Sapel had tied it too tight — or Spock's hands were shaking uncontrollably — or both. He couldn't get it loose and there was no time to pick at it until it did untie.

Spock yanked his knife from its scabbard and sawed the rope through, just above the knot. Then, without pausing, he yanked it free and threw himself onto his stomach, quickly feeding the rope down the cliff to where his son perched on the ledge, his eyes solely on the creature below him.

Furious now, the huge sea reptile scrambled as far up the rocks as it could and leaped toward Sapel, its long neck stretched to its limit. It was hungry and filled with blood lust, and the meal it had spotted was not to be given up without a fight.

Sapel slashed again with his knife and this time he cut a chunk from the snout just as the needle teeth snapped shut an inch from him. The plesiosaur screeched in maddened pain as it fell back, shaking its head, slinging blood from its wound.

A gull dived at the serpent-like head and was snatched out of mid-air. Bones crunched but the reptile was not interested in so small a meal. It dropped the dead sea bird to the waves below, where it was instantly pounced upon by the two smaller plesiosaurs waiting in the surf.

On the little ledge, Sapel watched breathless as the big reptile gathered itself for another leap, its beady eyes hard as obsidian and locked on its target. Sapel got ready. Something told him it would be his last chance.

At that moment, a long snake plopped into his shoulder from above and the startled boy nearly lost his footing as he jumped in reaction. Then he saw that it was the rope and he looked up to see his parents peering anxiously over the cliff edge at him, the rope firmly in his father's strong hands.

What happened next seemed to take place in a blinding instant, so quickly that it was not easily sorted out. Just as Sapel grasped the rope with his left hand and was preparing to slip his knife back into its scabbard with his right, the plesiosaur launched itself upward with a supreme effort, mouth gaping, blood and spittle flying as it reached for its prey. Sapel jabbed reflexively and the obsidian blade buried itself to the hilt of the reptile's muzzle and was yanked from his hand as the creature tumbled back with a hideous shriek.

The huge head slammed into the little ledge as it did so and Sapel's only support collapsed beneath him. With a terrified yell, Sapel seized the rope with a compulsive grab, hearing it creak and feeling it shudder as his full weight was suddenly full upon it.

The rope slipped and Sapel cried out in terror, echoed by his mother's scream above. But a second later, the rope was secure and began to move upward. The boy looked up again and focused on his father's face, grim and set, flushed green with effort as he slowly hauled the young man to safety.

It seemed to take forever now, the rescue as slow as the attack was blurringly fast. But at last he was there and hauled up into Christine's arms. She pulled him into a breathless embrace and refused to let him go, her face buried in his hair, sobbing hysterically. A moment later, he felt Spock's arms go around both of them, crushing them into a hard hug, and for a while time stood still as the family held one another.

Then a groan from Jenny's location pulled Christine away, wiping her wet face before she turned to treat her little daughter, who was just returning to consciousness. Behind them all, T'Kai watched from her basket and the raw emotions surrounding her sent her whimpering and finally into a full-throated wail.

Spock felt weak as he got to his feet and helped his son up. "Are you hurt?" he finally asked.

"No, just bruised, I think, Papa," Sapel answered, and then the whole shock of what he'd just undergone surged through him. His knees buckled and he sat down abruptly, beginning to shake.

Spock knelt and took Sapel's face between both hands, looking into the boy's unfocusing eyes. "You are safe now," Spock told him, reinforcing the statement telepathically. "You saved your sister's life. We are all safe now."

Sapel blinked, swallowed, and nodded shakily. He would be all right once the after effects of the rescue wore off.

"Spock, I need you," Christine said from where she was bending over T'Jenn.

As the Vulcan got up to help his wife, Sapel said, "I'm okay, Papa. I'll take care of Kai‑Kai. You help Mama."

Spock ran a hand affectionately over his son's hair, his heart swelling with pride and love for the boy. Then he went to assist Christine in tending to T'Jenn's fractured arm.

* * *

It took two weeks for T'Jenn to recover enough to be able to travel and that time was used productively to prepare for the trip. All the food that would pack and carry well was readied, a sturdy travois was constructed, camping materials, clothing, tools and weapons were stowed and stacked, and the cabin was put into shape to be closed until the next winter.

Spock spent considerable time with his little daughter, mind-melded with her and laying to rest her terrors and nightmares of the accident. He did not erase the memory, for he felt that to do so would violate the ethics of allowing a person's experiences to remain their own, but he did mute them and so soothe the child, enabling her to better handle the experience without the trauma involved.

Sapel chose to spend his evenings in meditation, putting his own demons to rest. Of this, Spock approved heartily, for it was another step in his son's path to manhood. Nearly every evening, Sapel would disappear after supper, then return in an hour or so, visibly relaxed and seeming rather detached, the aftermath of his meditation.

On the evening before their intended departure, it rained heavily, keeping them all indoors, and Sapel retired to the rock overhang at the rear of the cabin, where he sat cross-legged and silent in the dark.

From their bedding, Christine nestled back against Spock and cast a glance at her son. "He's so different," she whispered. "He's so grown up now."

"At home, he would be nearly 13," Spock murmured back. "It was at that time of my life that I first thought of joining Starfleet. I left home at age 17."

"I didn't know what I wanted to do yet. I was still too wrapped up in that week's boyfriend," she replied.

"What led you into medicine?"

"It was in college. I don't know really. I just loved my biology and chemistry classes. I loved methodically tracking down and identifying a virus or bacterium. I felt I was doing some good."

He made a small noise in his throat. "I regret that Sapel will never have that opportunity. Not on this world anyway."

"That's what I regret most, I think," Christine answered softly. "For all our kids. For them, life is starting over in the stone age. There'll be no formal education, no travel to other worlds, no knowing what lies beyond their own little lives."

"I cannot be helped," he sighed. "We can only do what we can to teach them. But I too fear that anything beyond the practicalities of survival will not matter to them." He patted her waist and said, "Sleep now. The task at hand is travel and we may have a long day tomorrow."

* * *

Sapel was aware of his parents whispering, barely audible against the backdrop of rain, but it was inconsequential and soon they had fallen asleep. Scruffy came and curled up next to him, purring softly, and the resulting quiet warmth lulled him into a deep meditative state bordering on slumber. In this mental void, he traveled as he often did to places he did not recognize and saw things he did not comprehend. Often there were people, too, and he puzzled over these as well.

The sound of rain became rhythmic and he knew it to be the surge and ebb of the ocean. But this was not his ocean, not the Southern Sea. The beach here was broad and yellow, overhung by slender, tilted trees, topped with a crown of wide fronds and clusters of large fruit. The sea stretched blue-green to the horizon, punctuated by white-topped waves that rushed onto the golden sand and then withdrew again. The air was hot and humid, pleasant against his bare skin.

Sapel looked down at himself and understood that, although this was his body, it was not the one he knew. This was a man's body, brown and muscled and strong as he was not strong now. He stood naked except for a necklace of flowers draped across his chest, a garland of blooms he could not identify.

Abruptly, there was a high, sweet laugh and a slim, dark-skinned girl went rushing past him, shedding a brightly-patterned hip wrap as she did, then she was naked too, save for her waist‑length black hair and a lei that matched his.

"Come on!" she urged and leaped into the water.

For a stunned second, Sapel hesitated then pelted in after her. At first, he thought the girl was T'Kai, grown up as he was, then he saw that she was a stranger — Human with almond-shaped green eyes and full, berry-stained lips. As the surf billowed around them, the two young people played, splashing with abandon, swimming, dunking one another until their flower adornments came apart and floated around them in the sea.

Then, breathless, they hurried out onto the warm sand and flung themselves down, rolling together, their dripping bodies seeking the heat of the other's flesh. Sapel pulled her close and felt his loins respond to the eager invitation of the girl beneath him. As he moved into position above her and settled between her slender thighs, he brought his lips down to capture her own.

"Maia," he whispered against her mouth as he pushed fully within her hungry body. " _Adun'i_ , Maia."

* * *

The dream — vision — whatever it was — would not leave him alone. For days, as they had trudged northward, Sapel found himself reliving it. And he could not decide what disturbed him about it the most — the haunting image of the green-eyed girl or the fact that he'd had sex with her.

To begin with, where had he conjured her from? In his entire life, he had seen only four others of his own kind — his parents and his sisters. No, that wasn't true. There had been the men at the ship when he was undergoing his _kahs-wan_. The ones that had killed Mooch. But there had been no woman with them. He tried to think if there had been any pictures in the downed Romulan ship, but could not recall a single one.

Perhaps she was someone his father had known and whose image Sapel had picked up during one of their mind-melds, as he had done with the nerve pinch. That must be it, the boy decided. Spock had lived on other planets than this one and had encountered countless people in his travels. So had Christine, for that matter, but Sapel had never melded with her. No, the girl must be someone his father had known.

But what about the sex part? Sapel had never had sex with anyone or imagined someone like this girl. When he touched himself to make his penis hard and, since his Awakening, to make the fluid come out, it was his parents that he thought about to get aroused. He'd seen and heard them couple lots of times. He'd watched animals mate, too, and had even thought about mating with Picku for a while. But this dark-haired girl? She was something new.

Then an alarming thought intruded abruptly into Sapel's reverie. Was the girl someone his _father_ had had sex with? Was he inadvertently viewing a memory from Spock's past? Sapel turned his gaze toward the man trudging ahead of him, lugging the travois, T'Jenn asleep among the supplies. Christine walked beside the tall Vulcan, little T'Kai asleep in her papoose board on the woman's back.

Sapel gulped in embarrassment and felt his face flame. If Spock had mated with other women, had Christine also been with other men? She'd had an active life herself and there might have been many others. The realization hit Sapel like a body blow and his pace faltered as a blast of shock and insecurity swept over him. He began to tremble and his eyes to burn with unexpected tears.

As he lagged behind, Christine glanced around at him and said, "Don't get lost, honey," then turned back to smile adoringly up at her husband. Spock glanced down and smiled at her in return, his features softening with undisguised affection.

Sapel clamped his teeth firmly together and kept walking, his stomach feeling as if it had suddenly tied itself into a knot.

* * *

After nearly a month of steady travel, hampered only by swollen streams and swampy stretches, the family at long last looked down on their home valley, the waterfall at the end plunging into its receiving pond, the creek flowing away down toward the river, and the trees and grass brilliant with the bright green of new growth. To one side, they could see their homestead cave and the sod house addition beside it, now itself crowned with emerald grass.

"My, it's good to be home," Christine sighed happily and they started down the slope, slipping a bit on the muddy trail.

The cave, as usual, had to be cleared of the various creatures that had taken up residence in their absence, this time including a bad tempered badger-like animal that Spock killed with a thrust of his spear. They set the carcass aside for later processing. The meat wouldn't be edible, but the thick, soft pelt would make a valuable addition to their meager clothing stock.

Inside the sod hut, the wet, earthy smell was strong but alive with the fresh scent of life. They opened the doorway to air it out, as they were doing with the cave itself, which was redolent of animal aroma, and Christine bustled around laying salvaged firewood on the hearth outside the cave doorway and getting a cooking fire going. They would sleep under the stars tonight while their home aired, then move in tomorrow and make it livable again.

All of them were exhausted and went to sleep early, but sometime around midnight, Christine awoke to movement nearby and was reaching for her knife instantly. It proved only to be Sapel, who was making his way quietly down toward the pond.

Spock awoke, too, at his wife's sudden alertness and whispered, "What?"

She was already relaxing. "Nothing. Just Sapel. Probably needs to pee or something." She settled back down and was back to sleep almost instantly. Spock, however, raised himself on his elbow and peered into the moonlit darkness, following his son's dark shape. He could feel that the boy was troubled by something, but that had been normal for quite some time. The young teenager was still struggling with his puberty and, now that they were home again, perhaps Spock would be able to pick up their training sessions once again.

Still, something prompted Spock to rise silently and follow the trail that led down to the water's edge. He found Sapel standing on the shoreline, gazing out over the dark water, its tranquil surface reflecting the starlight.

"You cannot sleep," Spock commented softly, making it a statement rather than a question.

"I can't sleep," Sapel agreed without looking at his father.

"What troubles you?"

"I'm not sure it's something I can ask you," the boy answered after a moment.

"You may ask anything of me," Spock responded, a faint note of curiosity in his voice.

"Then it might not be something you want to answer."

Spock sighed heavily. "Sapel, it is very late and I am very tired. I have no desire to play guessing games with you. Ask your question."

"Okay." The boy stood silent for a moment longer than asked, "Who's Maia?"

Now it was Spock's turn to stand mute. At length, he responded, "Maia?"

"Yeah. Who's Maia?"

"I have no idea of whom you are speaking, Sapel. I know of no one named Maia."

"Are you sure?" Sapel demanded, swinging around to face his father. "A girl? With long black hair and green eyes?"

"No." Spock shook his head. "Although undoubtedly there have been females I have known who might fit that description, none of them, at least to my knowledge, was named Maia."

A note of desperation entered Sapel's voice. "Papa, are you absolutely certain? Isn't she someone that you had ... had ... sex with?!"

Spock's mouth very nearly dropped open in surprise, then he caught himself. "Sapel, I do not know where you ever formed such an idea, but I can assure you with absolute certainty that, had I ever engaged in sexual relations with such a woman, I would both know her name and remember her! Where did you get this notion?"

Hanging his head, Sapel answered faintly, "I dreamed it. At least I think it was a dream. I was meditating ... and I suddenly was all grown up and on a beach with this girl and we went swimming and then ... we had sex." He gulped. "I thought maybe she was someone you knew and I'd picked up a memory of yours."

The Vulcan stood silent for a moment, then lowered himself to the ground, indicating that Sapel should sit beside him.

When the boy had settled, Spock told him, "Our mind melds do not happen that way, Sapel. You would not have been able to acquire any of my memories unless I wished it. My mental barriers are much too well-formed to allow any stray memories to seep into another's mind. I wish to touch your thoughts, however, and see this person who has troubled you so much."

Sapel nodded and turned his face toward his father. Lightly, Spock rested his fingertips against the psi points and easily slipped into his son's neural pathways. All was quiet for a moment as the meld deepened, then Spock withdrew and broke the link.

"I do not know this woman," he stated definitively. "There is nothing familiar about her. You say you envisioned her as you meditated? Hmm... perhaps 'vision' is an appropriate word, although I cannot say if this was a vision of the past or the future."

"The past?"

"Yes. It could be a trace memory from one of the Ancestors. Vulcans have been in contact with Humans for over two hundred years. Perhaps an Ancestor had a relationship with this woman and you are picking that up from your _katra_. I cannot say."

Again Spock shook his head. "Less likely, but still possible ... there has always been a degree of precognition inherent in our family line. It is not logical and I do not give it much credit, but I cannot deny that the ability to See has occasionally appeared. Your grandfather Sarek's maternal aunt, T'Plynn, was unusually psychic and made a number of accurate predictions of the future."

The boy grunted and looked thoughtful. "Weird. So you don't think it's anything to be worried about?"

"No. And now I am going back to bed. I advise you to do the same."

Spock started to get up but was halted when Sapel blurted out, "Papa? Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Yes," the man sighed and settled back down.

"Okay, so this Maia person isn't anyone you know... but, Papa?" Sapel hesitated then rushed ahead. "Is there anyone besides Mama that you _did_ have sex with?"

He should have seen that one coming, Spock thought ruefully. Well, he hadn't really needed to get any sleep tonight, after all. Taking a deep breath, he began, "Yes, Sapel. The first time I ever had intercourse, I was seventeen and my Awakening had just occurred..."

The eastern horizon was turning a faint blushing peach by the time father and son had finished their talk by the side of the pond, and Christine was awake and had breakfast cooking before the two of them made their way back to the homesite, exhausted but oddly content.

* * *

Clouds were scudding over the faces of the three little moons as Christine joined Spock by the banks of the creek where it gurgled past their homesite and away toward the river. He was staring up at the night sky where the incoming front was fast covering the stars.

"You're up late," she said softly, sliding her arm inside his and leaning close.

"I heard a noise down here and feared that gnawer might still be after the salt cache."

"Was it?"

"Yes, but Scruffy took care of the problem." Spock continued to gaze skyward.

"What's so interesting?" Christine asked, searching the heavens.

"I was just studying the weather," he replied distractedly. "I believe we are in for a rainy spell."

"You're not looking at the clouds," she pointed out.

"No..." His attention was fixed elsewhere. "That red star... the more I look at it, the more convinced I am that that is Aldebaran."

"You've been saying that for years."

"I know. I have no way to prove it. It is just ... a hunch." Spock sounded almost embarrassed.

"Well, far be it from me to contradict Vulcan hunches," Christine smiled, watching his face for his reaction.

Spock did not disappoint her. Even in the waning moonlight, she could see the upslanted eyebrows rise in mock indignation. "Now you are teasing me," he accused her.

"Sure I am," she grinned. "You're my favorite target."

"In that case, I shall refrain in the future from sharing my observations and thoughts with you," he pronounced.

"No, you won't. I'm the only adult you have to talk to!" she laughed softly, then the loneliness of that statement occurred to her and she looked up at the blazing point of light, marking its familiarity just before the leading cloud edge covered it. _Home_ , it said to her. Even though she'd never been to Aldebaran and its harsh planets held only rudimentary colonies, it was still within Federation space. _Home_.

Spock noted her melancholy mood. "Let's take a walk," he suggested, "before the rain begins and we are forced inside."

She nodded and they strolled down the creek, crossed the stepping stones and went up the other side to the level of the plains. The old brush pile was still there, but it was totally overgrown now with flowering berry vines. The scent of the blossoms was heavy on the night air and a rustle and soft buzz alerted them to the presence of honey sippers, tiny flying animals that were somewhere between a hummingbird and a bat. They fed on the night-blooming flowers in the region during the spring and apparently migrated north and south to find the best food sources.

"Do you realize that it's been almost exactly eleven years since we were marooned here?" Christine asked as they walked. "It was springtime when we first found this valley."

"Yes," Spock replied softly. "That seems a lifetime ago."

"I would never have believed that we'd still be here or that we could have survived all we've been through."

He made a deep noise of agreement in his throat but didn't answer. She laughed. "Do you remember how we spent that first night up a tree?"

"Indeed." He glanced at her and a mischievous tone entered his voice. "I got a good look up your skirt as I boosted you up that tree."

She slapped his arm. "You lecher! I would never have believed that sedate, unemotional Mr. Spock was such a dirty old man!"

"I am not old," he protested.

"No, by Vulcan standards, you're barely grown. What are you now, Spock? Forty-nine?"

He thought for a moment, mentally calculating stardates. "Yes. Almost 50."

"See? Just a kid."

He looked down and smiled at her. "You keep me young," he said.

She laughed again. "Too bad I'm getting so old. I'm five years younger than you. I'm 44 now, I guess. Maybe 45."

"Still young," he insisted.

She slapped his arm again, but he could tell she was pleased. "We'd better turn back," she said. "Don't want to get too far from home."

"I agree." They did an about face and started back towards the creek valley. Overhead, the clouds had completely covered the sky and it had become very dark. A cool breeze was blowing out of the north, bringing with it the scent of rain.

"What did you and Sapel talk about that night? When you stayed up until dawn?" Christine asked after a while.

"He was disturbed by a dream he'd had," Spock answered. "He dreamed of a strange woman with whom he had sex."

"He's just a little boy!" Christine protested.

"He is an adolescent. In any case, he was grown in his dream."

"Why was he so disturbed? Was it a wet dream?"

"No, I do not believe he ejaculated in his sleep. He was upset because he thought he might have picked up a memory from me," Spock replied.

Christine glanced sharply at him. "And had he?"

Spock met her gaze and held it for a moment, coming to a halt. "No," he said finally. "She was no one I know."

"Good."

Spock cocked his head and demanded quizzically, "Are you jealous, wife?"

"No ... I mean ... well, yes!" she admitted, fidgeting a bit nervously. "You're _mine_! I won't share you with another woman — even one from the past!"

He was silent then queried softly, "And do I share you with other men, my wife?"

"No, of course not!"

"Not even Roger?"

The question stopped her cold. "What is this — confession time? Okay. Yes, Roger and I had a great sex life. I loved him. But Roger is dead. Had been dead a long time before Exo III." Her blue eyes were shining faintly with a sheen of tears. "What about you then? What about that botanist ... uh ... Lula?"

"Leila."

"Whatever."

Spock shook his head. "No. Not even on Omicron Ceti III. We loved but didn't make love. It would have broken the spores."

"How many others then?"

He hung his head, the wind blowing his dark hair about his face. "There were several at the Academy. I was very young and had discovered that Human females were quite attracted to me. I'm afraid I took advantage of the situation. Until I had to hurt one of them quite badly emotionally, that is. She wanted to marry me and I had to tell her that I already had a bond-wife waiting for me on Vulcan." He sighed. "I learned quite a painful lesson about Human feelings. I never did it again."

"Oh, Spock, I'm sorry," Christine exclaimed. "I didn't mean to open old wounds. Let's drop this subject. It doesn't matter anyway."

She sank against him and rested her head against his chest, sighing as his strong arms came up to embrace her. "I want only you, _t'hy'la_ ," he murmured in a husky whisper, nuzzling into her hair. "You are my heart and always will be."

Gathering her to him, he tilted her face up to his and captured her lips in a long, warm kiss. It went on for a very long time and she finally had to draw away in order to breathe, but almost immediately pulled him back to continue. The tip of her tongue brushed against his mouth and he instantly opened his lips to allow her entry, his own tongue pushing and dancing around hers. Mouths opened wider and lips sealed harder together as the kiss deepened, sending waves of heat throughout the two pressing bodies. Neither of them noticed the first patter of raindrops falling around them.

Then suddenly it was as if the sky had opened and curtains of rain enveloped them. Christine jerked away from Spock and squealed, throwing her arms up in a futile gesture of protection. He seized her arm and turned her toward the cave, shouting, "Come on!"

They ran, slipping down the slope to the creek, dashing across the stepping stones and then stumbling up to the cave entrance, both of them drenched, Christine laughing out loud as they ducked inside. Scruffy sped in hot on their heels, a half-eaten gnawer carcass in her jaws. She paused, shook vigorously, then disappeared into the back recesses of the cave.

The two soaked people ignored the hunting cat, intent on their own condition. Christine took a quick peek to make sure they hadn't awakened the children, asleep in the sod house addition, then she moved back to the sleeping area as Spock wedged the door guard in place, shutting out the storm.

The embers of the hearth fire were still glowing strongly and he laid another couple of logs on the fire, then turned toward the rear of the cave — and stopped in his tracks.

Christine was standing with her back to him, her wet clothing already discarded in a pile on the floor. She had unbraided her long hair and had thrown her head back, shaking the wet, dark blonde tresses down her back in a thick curtain that reached almost to her full, sensuous buttocks. The golden light from the new-built fire limned her body in gilt, tracing her long clean limbs and trim waist. As she lifted her hands to fluff out her hair, the heavy globe of one breast came into view, its dark rosy nipple standing out tautly. And she peeked over her shoulder to see if he was watching, smiling broadly.

Spock felt a surge of deja vu overwhelm him and it seemed that time had rolled back eleven years, to another rain storm and another night, when he had seen her fully nude for the first time and had given in to the fire that roared through his veins. The incipient arousal he had experienced during their recent kiss now exploded within him like an inferno as he also remembered the incredible sensations of their first time together, of claiming her as his mate and having her meet him fully in every move and emotion.

Hurriedly, he stripped off his own wet clothing until he, too, stood naked in the firelight, his skin flushed and steaming slightly as the blaze heated and dried him, feeling his blood pound eagerly into the hungry organ at his groin, filling it with flame. Then he moved without hesitation to the woman before him.

She giggled softly as his arms went around her and pulled her hard against him, turning her as he did so, his mouth claiming hers before she had fully faced him. Voracious, he devoured her, groping with one large hand to engulf her abundant breast, his rapidly hardening manhood probing into her hip.

"You are a demon" he whispered against her lips as he broke the kiss for an instant.

"I know," she responded and wriggled her pelvis against his playfully, and was rewarded with an answering thrust of his own.

She understood his urgency, for the incredible need of that time ignited a wildfire within her as well. Her arms went around his neck, their searching mouths roaming over lips and throats, licking and nipping and laving the bites with hot saliva. His kneading of her breast squeezed milk over his fingers, and he pushed her away a little so that he could bend to seize the nipple fully within his mouth, sucking hard until the creamy liquid squirted across his tongue, then switched to do the same to the other one.

Now serious, Christine groaned and arched back, supported by his arms around her, nearly swooning as her nerve endings erupted in rapturous sensation. Leaning back as she was, her legs spread apart around his hips and, lifting his head from her seeping breasts, he dipped and pushed his throbbing erection between her thighs, rubbing against her swelling womanhood and coating himself with her slick honey.

"Oh, God..." she moaned and grasped his shoulders to keep herself from falling, her head going full back as she opened herself more, her body almost begging for entry of the probing, pulsing shaft. But he held her securely, even as he felt her knees begin to buckle.

"Down," he gasped and together they collapsed onto the bedding, still locked together, barely avoiding an awkward fall.

But neither cared. As soon as he had her on her back, Spock shifted and drove his hips forward and was immediately embedded within her. He shifted again to seat himself more securely in her depths, then he was thrusting, strong and sure and with bruising intensity. She braced her feet and lifted up beneath him, taking him as deeply as she could, spread wide, her hands clamped over his driving buttocks, nails digging into the flesh.

The almost animal nature of the act fed the expanding exhilaration that sang back and forth between them, their bondlink crackling with delirium. She was the first to explode in orgasm but the backwash of her rapture crashed into him an instant later.

With a growl he could not suppress, he jammed himself against her as hard as he could, burying himself against her womb, and felt his entire being disintegrate in the unimaginable ecstasy of release.

For an interminable time, they hung there as his soul pumped its hot essence into hers, shuddering, unable to breathe, bodies rigid and unresponsive to anything but the finality of their mating.

Then it was over and they sank weakly onto the bedding, still welded together, still joined as one, but as feeble as if they were new-formed creatures taking their first breaths of life. For a long time, they simply lay there, faces together, eyes closed, allowing their lungs to draw air normally and their hearts to beat less wildly.

At last, Spock raised his hips a little and pulled himself from her limp body, moving off her but settling close, skin to skin all along their lengths.

"Wow," Christine murmured without opening her eyes. "I don't know what it is about rainstorms that lights your fuse, but I like it!"

"What 'lights my fuse', as you say, is _you_ ," he murmured back, sighing deeply. "Being naked and wet doesn't hurt anything, either."

She chuckled. "Ah, so that's the secret! I'll remember that."

"Mmmm..." he answered sleepily. "It sounds as if it's going to rain for quite some time. I might have to get you wet again before the night is out."

"Oooo... I like the sound of that!" She wriggled encouragingly against him.

"Let me rest first, though," he answered, snuggling against her warm body. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

She started to retort, but he was already falling asleep, nuzzled into her shoulder, and she pulled the furs up over them both, settling in and listening to the rain falling steadily outside their door, pressing her lips against the warm skin of his forehead.

"I love you, Spock," she whispered and stroked a fingertip lightly up the sweep of one dark eyebrow then down his cheek.

Opening his eyes sleepily, he murmured in return, "I love you, Christine," and leaned in to kiss her one last time.

Abruptly the moment was shattered as a piercing scream came from behind the leather curtain that led to the sod house addition — T'Jenn — and all hell seemed to break loose.

Spock was on his feet in a second, in one motion snatching up the hunting knife that lay close at hand and leaping toward the door, heedless of his nudity. Christine was right behind him, wrapping a fur blanket around her as she did so.

Slapping aside the curtain, Spock paused for a second to try and sort out the commotion in the dark room. It was very confusing and he couldn't find the source of the danger until Christine had the presence of mind to thrust a dry branch into the hearth embers and light a torch.

T'Jenn was sitting on her bedding, her screams now dissolved into hysterical crying. Sapel had collapsed back onto his own bed and was now laughing so hard that he was on the verge of an asthma attack. Little T'Kai, jolted out of a sound sleep, was standing in her crib bed and wailing at the top of her lungs, scared out of her wits.

The cause of it all sat bewildered in the middle of the room, her big green eyes dilated and filled with surprise, twisting her head this way and that, her black-tufted ears swiveling in every direction, fur fluffed in terror — Scruffy the hunting cat.

Beside T'Jenn's bedding lay the bloody, half-eaten corpse of the rodent the cat had caught earlier that evening. Apparently she had decided to share it with her young mistress and had dropped the offering right on the little girl's face as the child snored peacefully, lost in dreamland.

Spock and Christine exchanged wry looks and Spock pulled the leather curtain around his hips to cover his nakedness. As he did so, his wife began to chuckle and then to laugh out loud, leaning for support against his muscular arm, both of them a little bit weak with relief.

At last, Christine wiped her eyes and looked up at him, sighing, her blue eyes sparkling in the light of the torch she held in her other hand. "You know?" she said with a grin. "Every now and then I get to having so much fun, I almost hope we're never rescued!"

* * *

**Present Day**

T'Jenn's scream and Sapel's startled cry jerked Spock out of his reminiscing and back to the present as nothing else could have. Even as Christine was trying to rise, forgetting for a second that she could not with a badly broken leg, he was leaping away up the hill, knife in hand, to where his children were in danger. It could be anything — there were predators in these woods that were always hungry for succulent young flesh — and the memory of a werewolf with a baby's tiny newborn body dangling from its jaws spurred Spock to greater speed.

The blown down trees and tangled debris from the storm hampered him and he fought frantically to find a way through it all. Up ahead of him, the girls were crying in fear and Sapel was yelling, "Papa!! Papa!!"

With a final lunge through the brush, Spock burst into a clearing near the crest of the hill, shoved the three youngsters behind him, and prepared to do battle with whatever was attacking them—

—and nearly fell to the ground as his knees suddenly threatened to give way beneath him.

Standing on the crest of the hill was a man.

A Human man.

And he was wearing a Starfleet uniform.

* * *

Hours seemed to tick by as the two men stared at one another, both of them struck dumb in amazement. The three children crowded around Spock's legs, also staring at this apparition, unsure what they should do, trying to get some clue from their father.

Finally it was the Human who moved first. Tentatively, he held his hands up, palms outward to show that he wasn't bearing a weapon, and said in a slightly quavering voice, "Uh ... _Jolan tru_. Um ... uh ... _daeien_." He gestured to himself. "Friend ... _daeien_."

Spock suddenly understood how he must appear to the eyes of this stranger — dirty, bearded face with slanted eyebrows and pointed ears showing prominently through waist-length, disheveled black hair, a tall, angular body clothed in crudely sewn buckskins that were smeared with grime and blood, brandishing a wicked looking alien-made knife while three bedraggled, ragamuffin children huddled behind him. He must look like a wild man indeed!

The red-shirted Human was watching him expectantly, obviously wondering if he should reach for the phaser stuck to his belt, but timorously tried one more time. " _Rihannsu daeien?_ "

Spock lowered the knife and straightened to his full height with as much dignity as he could muster. "I am not Romulan," he said in cultured, perfectly enunciated Standard. "And I believe the word for which you are searching is _daehlen_. You have just referred to yourself as a radio frequency."

The Starfleet officer nearly fainted on the spot. "My God! You speak English! Who are you?! What are you doing on Avalon?!" He started down the hill toward the Vulcan.

"Avalon?"

"This planet! That's what it's called!"

"Ah..." So, it had a name after all, other than the one he and Christine had given it — Terra Two. Spock lifted an eyebrow as he pondered that for a second, then he addressed the man again. "What I am doing here is a very long story. Who am I is easier to tell. I am Commander Spock of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. I have been marooned here for twelve years."

The man's jaw, which seemed to be on a loose hinge, fell open again and he uttered in absolute awe, "Hail Mary, Mother of Angels!" and crossed himself. "You were declared missing and presumed dead over five years ago!"

"So I had assumed," Spock answered, ignoring the Human religious reference.

The man glanced down at Sapel and the girls. "And these kiddos? Where'd they come from? Are there others here?"

"They are my children," Spock replied quietly. "The only other person here is my wife, Dr. Christine Chapel, also of the _Enterprise_." And then it was Spock's turn to ask questions. "And who are you? What is your ship? What are you doing here in Romulan space?" Then he hesitated, "This _is_ Romulan space, is it not?"

"Was. Not anymore. Sorry — my name's Mallory. Reuben Mallory. My ship's the _Columbia_. We're a Federation survey vessel."

Spock nodded then pressed on to more urgent needs. "Do you have a surgeon on board? A sickbay that can handle medical emergencies?"

"Yeah, sure," Mallory replied. "You hurt?"

"My wife. She was badly injured in the storm," Spock told him. "She is just down the hill there."

"Let's go then!" the Starfleet officer responded. "We'll get a med team down here on the double!"

* * *

When Christine saw Spock walk back into the clearing, carrying T'Kai and accompanied by the Starfleet clad stranger, the other two children tagging along behind, for a second she thought she had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Then the reality of the situation hit her with the same amount of force as when the cabin had collapsed on her.

All the blood drained from her face and she began to gulp frantically for air, unable to speak. Tears of utter shock filling her eyes, she began to sob in deep, harsh gasps that rapidly escalated. Finally, covering her face with both hands, she sank into unbridled hysteria.

Alarmed, Spock shoved T'Kai into Sapel's arms and hurried to his wife's side, kneeling down and seizing her shoulders.

"Christine! It is all right! Christine!"

He got no answer. She was beyond coherent thought. All the pain and stress and struggle of the last twelve years had broken free and was screaming out of her soul. Her mind refused to grasp the fact that they had been found, that their rescuers had appeared when all hope had long been lost.

Mallory stood by in obvious distress at the woman's reaction, not knowing what to do. Behind him, the kids stared wide-eyed and frightened as their mother convulsed. Spock, desperate to end the delirium, finally gripped the juncture at the base of Christine's neck and knocked her out with a nerve pinch. She jerked, then went limp, unconscious.

"I'm sorry," Mallory said faintly. "I didn't mean to scare her."

Wearily the Vulcan rose to his feet. "No, it is my fault for not preparing her. The shock was too much for her. She has been through a great deal, especially in the past few hours."

"Well, let me call the ship," the man replied. "I'll get a med team here pronto."

As Mallory took out a communicator — Spock had nearly forgotten that such devices existed — and flipped it open, Spock moved to his children and lifted T'Jenn into his arms, where the tearful little girl clung to his neck and trembled.

"It's all right," Spock said softly and comfortingly to the three youngsters. "This man is from my people. He is here to help us. Soon more people will be coming to help Mama. Do not be afraid of them." He paused. "They may do some very strange things that you have not seen before. You may see them appear out of thin air."

"What?" demanded Sapel. "Are they ... are they spirits?"

"No, not at all," his father replied. "It is just a way to travel where Mama and I come from. Watch now."

Within five minutes, the air in the clearing began to shimmer and then to sparkle like sunlight on water, then the forms of four people began to take shape. Sapel stared open-mouthed at the sight, but T'Jenn hid her face against her father's neck, terrified. In her brother's arms, little T'Kai reached out to the pretty lights.

The transport completed, the glittering blobs resolved themselves into a burly, broad‑shouldered woman and two young men, all in medical blue, and a tall, heavy-set bearded man in command gold. The med team immediately went to Christine and knelt around her.

The big man, after a quick glance around, stalked toward Spock and stuck out his hand. "I'm Frank Hendrikson, commanding the U.S.S. _Columbia_. Pardon an obvious question here but — _what_ in the bloody hell are you all doing on this planet?!" There was both amazement and delight in the deep voice.

Spock grasped the proffered hand. "I am Spock. My last assignment was the U.S.S. _Enterprise_."

"Good God, man!" Hendrikson boomed. "I'd be an addle-pated idiot if I didn't know who you are, Commander! You and Lt. Chapel were headline news for months when you disappeared! You two were the objects of the largest manhunt in the last 100 years! Why, your esteemed father nearly talked Vulcan into declaring war on Romulus unless they confessed to your abductions and turned you over to him." He shook his head. "If he could've gotten a majority vote in the Federation Council, there would have been a Federation invasion fleet turning the Romulan Empire upside down looking for you!!"

Hendrikson laughed loudly at the Vulcan's stunned expression. Before anything else could be said, the blue-clad woman appeared behind him. She had a broad, homely face of indeterminate age, pierced by bright blue eyes that were both sharp and compassionate, her steel-grey hair pulled back into a tight knot at the back of her head. The captain turned. "Yes, Doctor?"

"She'll be okay once we get her to the ship. I suggest we beam up right away so I can get on with my job."

"Of course, of course." Hendrikson looked back at Spock and jerked his head toward the physician. "Our ship's surgeon, Dr. Olga Karotkin. Doc, meet the long-lost Commander Spock!"

"Commander," the doctor nodded. "You splint her leg?"

"Yes," Spock acknowledged, a faint hint of uncertainty in his voice. Surely this formidable-looking woman wasn't about to chastise him for his first aid on Christine's broken leg.

But Karotkin just answered shortly, "Good job. Any of the rest of you need medical care?"

"No. At least not at the moment," Spock replied. A sudden thought struck him. "Doctor, we have been marooned here for twelve years and have each contracted native diseases at one time or another. The children were all born on this planet and have had no immunizations. You should quarantine Dr. Chapel for the safety of your crew until it is determined that she carries no communicable diseases that are indigenous to this world. I will stay here on the planet with the children until your medical staff can certify all of us 'clean' and the children are immunized against anything they might encounter on your ship."

For a second, Karotkin's china blue eyes hardened at Spock's clear usurpation of her medical authority, but then they softened again and she nodded. "I completely agree, Commander. A wise precaution." She turned to her two assistants and snapped, "Well? Get that stretcher set up and let's get this woman to the ship! Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?"

Hendrikson had been watching the exchange and now laughed out loud again. Clearly, a jolly nature was part of his personality. "You're a braver man than I am, Commander! Nobody I know has ever told the Czarina how to run her sickbay! Now, tell me what I can have beamed down that will help you out here. How about something to eat? And a jug of coffee for us and one of cocoa for the kids? We have got a _lot_ to talk about!"

* * *

The low, steady hum of ship's engines and quiet chirp of instruments gradually woke Christine from a heavy, restful sleep. She'd been having the strangest dream, one so vivid in her mind that it was utterly real. She could remember every detail of it, every smell, every sound, as if she'd actually been there. She had been on a primitive planet with Spock and they had children and lived in a cave, and then there were all these Starfleet people running around. And then she _did_ remember it all! Her eyes snapped open, panic-stricken, and flashed over her strange surroundings, unable to place where she was.

A large, warm hand settled over hers and squeezed gently. "It is all right, Christine," said a deep, familiar voice and she looked over to find Spock sitting beside her, his calm, depthless eyes steady on hers. He was bathed and clean-shaven, dressed in a blue utility coverall, and his long, raven hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck, falling in a jet cascade down his back.

"Where...?" she managed and then her throat seized up with dryness.

Spock handed her a cup with a straw and let her sip water. "We are on board the U.S.S. _Columbia_ , in orbit around Terra Two ... or Avalon, to give it its proper name."

"The kids?"

"They are here as well," he assured her. "The girls are in our cabin, being looked after by a member of the medical staff. Sapel has discovered the ship's tape library and cannot be pried away from the computer screen."

"How long have I been here?"

"Two days," Spock answered. "Dr. Karotkin has kept you sedated until she could finish the bone grafting procedure on your leg and heal a number of other conditions."

"Do I hear my name being taken in vain?" demanded a low female voice and the woman in question appeared on the other side of Christine's bed. She was wearing a voluminous lab coat and this made her look even larger. "Good to see you awake at last," she said, a trace of her native Russian in her voice. Her accent did not begin to compare with Chekov's, but then again Christine always felt he enhanced his a bit out of cultural pride. But there was pride in this woman's face, too, a plain, peasant pride that traced its ancestry back a thousand years. And although her broad face seemed severe, there was friendliness in her voice and eyes. "I am Dr. Karotkin, your physician. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Christine answered and then realized that she _did_ feel fine. "Actually, I haven't felt this good in years!"

"I don't doubt it," the surgeon replied gruffly. "In addition to fixing your leg, I repaired a badly healed fracture in your left foot, realigned a disc in your spine, and removed a tumor in your uterus. Your last baby, you had trouble with her? With the pregnancy?"

"I did," Christine answered, amazed. "I was sick the entire time and she was born early. We both nearly died."

Karotkin nodded. "Premature detachment of the placenta. This is what my scan shows. You are medical? When you are better, I will show you all my findings. I do not know if this tumor was already present but it is gone now. I kept you knocked out while the chemo did its work on your system. You would've vomited too much otherwise. Very nasty stuff. It will kill any cancer that I know, but the killing is very nasty. Very nasty."

Christine had paled a little at the announcement of her brush with cancer, still a formidable disease here in the late 23rd century. Medical science had eradicated most of its forms, but it kept mutating, adapting and always managed to find a way around every cure that was found. It chilled her to think that, if they hadn't been found, she would have faced a painful death from uterine cancer. "Thanks," she said weakly.

"You also had a real menagerie riding you, inside and out," the doctor continued relentlessly. "But you'll be happy to know they're all gone now, too. We saved them all for research and cataloging. All of them are new to science. I think maybe a lot of them will end up classified as _New-buggus chapelensis_." Her china blue eyes were definitely laughing now as she watched Christine's reaction.

"Uh, thanks again ... I guess."

The big woman glanced up at Spock and her eyes crinkled more. "A few will be _vulcanensis_ , too. All of you carried a lot of local fauna. Those clothes you had on — we're still trying to get them fumigated and out of quarantine!"

Distinctly uncomfortable, Spock shifted in his chair and had a hard time maintaining his Vulcan stoicism.

"And I thought we were all pretty clean," Christine answered glumly. "I really did my best to keep us washed."

"You did a miracle," Karotkin assured her, patting her hand. "I forbid you to worry. You are to rest and get well. How would some food be?"

Christine's eyes lit up as she suddenly realized how long it had been since she'd eaten. "It would be fabulous! I'm starved!"

"You _are_ starved," the doctor responded. "No meat on your bones. Any of you. But we'll feed you good. What would you like?"

Chapel's imagination went into overdrive as visions of favorite foods swam before her. "A cheeseburger with grilled onions! Medium rare! And fried potatoes! And, for dessert — chocolate cake! No — chocolate ice cream — no, chocolate cake _with_ chocolate ice cream! And a big thick vanilla milkshake — and—"

"Hold it, hold it!" Dr. Karotkin threw up her hands to quell the flow. "You'd be sick all over the room for sure on that lot! Let's start with some chicken broth and toast."

" _Cheese_ toast," Christine pleaded.

"All right, cheese toast," Karotkin chuckled. "Then we'll see how you're doing." She walked back toward her office to punch in the food order.

* * *

On the day they had been found and after Christine had been beamed up with the med team, the first thing Spock had asked Captain Hendrikson was: "The _Enterprise_... Do you know — is James Kirk still—"

"Commanding? You bet he is. And it's _Commodore_ Kirk now. He could be a fleet commander now if he wanted to be, but he will not, under any circumstances, take a desk job," Hendrikson grinned. "He loves being in space more than any man I've ever known. After Sekanus—"

"Sekanus? What is that?" Spock broke in.

"Oh, just a little skirmish with the Romulans," the other man answered dismissively. "Anyway, they tried to make him an admiral after that but he wouldn't have it. He demanded — and got — patrol of this sector. I think he's been looking for you all this time."

"Where are we anyway?" the Vulcan asked. "We were told little by our Romulan abductors except that this planet was so far away from anything that we would never be located. I surmised that this was Romulan space, which accounted for our not being found by any Federation vessels, but your presence now..."

Hendrikson laughed again. "We annexed this area after Sekanus. That's a very long story and can wait until we have you all looked after. Ah, here's that food and coffee I called for. Where would you like the ensign to set up?"

After the two older children were settled and eating, Spock nestled T'Kai into his lap and helped her sip warm cocoa from a cup that she held between her small hands. Now nearly two years old, she was essentially weaned, though still nursing occasionally. Christine hadn't quite been able to let that aspect of her mothering go with this precious last child. The family all sat comfortably on the ground, cross-legged, though Captain Hendrikson hunkered down on the makeshift seat of one of the big logs. The rest of the search team, Mallory included, hovered nearby, all parties exchanging curious stares and looking one another over.

Hendrikson leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together. "Med should be back down shortly to get you all immunized and then we'll beam you up to quarantined quarters for a while. Meantime, what can I do to help you, Commander? Who can I contact?"

Spock was silent for a minute, deep in thought as he helped T'Kai with her cup, then answered, "If you don't mind, Captain, I would like to keep the news of our rescue quiet until our families have been notified. If you could send a coded message to the _Enterprise_ , I would like to speak with Commodore Kirk and have him contact my parents and my wife's sisters on Earth. It will lessen the shock somewhat, I believe."

Hendrikson grinned and shook his head. "Man, is this going to blow the news grids into the next quadrant! I hope you have a deep dark hole that you all can dive into, because you're gonna wish you'd never been found once the media hounds get hold of _this_ story!"

* * *

That had been four days ago and now Spock, Christine (fresh out of sick bay), and the children were gathered around a table in the officer's mess, attempting to enjoy a quiet meal. Attempting, because T'Jenn was refusing to eat the strange food and was in a very cranky mood.

"I don't like it, Mama!" she whined. "Want some of _your_ food!"

"Jenny, I have told you that we don't have any of our usual food," her mother replied, a frown line taking up permanent residence between her eyebrows. "There is nothing wrong with your chicken strips."

"It tastes funny," the child stated. "Don't _want_ it!"

Spock had run out of patience, too. "Then you may sit there without eating and without this endless complaining. But there will be no other food later. Eat or go hungry."

T'Jenn's lower lip crept out and her eyes teared up, but she crossed her arms obstinately and sat back in her chair.

"Very well, have it your way," Spock commented and returned to his salad. Since coming on board ship, where a full menu was available from the food slots, he had returned to a fully vegetarian diet. There was no longer a logical reason to eat meat and he had ceased to do so immediately.

"It's good, Jenn," Sapel put in, holding up a crispy chicken strip. "It tastes just like tree hopper!" He demonstrated with a large bite.

Jenny wasn't swayed. "Don't like it!" she stated with finality.

T'Kai, perched on Christine's lap, echoed, "No like!" She had begun talking over the winter, baby gibberish beginning to include intelligible words and she tended to parrot her siblings.

"Oh, you're not even eating that," her mother chided her gently. "Have some more mashed potatoes." She spooned a bit into the baby's mouth and T'Kai promptly stuck a finger in to suck on with the potatoes.

Captain Hendrikson sauntered up and asked, "May I join you?"

"Please." Spock indicated a vacant chair.

The big man slid into the chair and set a huge coffee mug in front of him. It had a beach scene painted on it and the words "Risa — Pleasure Port of the Galaxy!" It seemed to be permanently affixed to the captain's hand because he carried it nearly everywhere onboard and constantly sipped coffee or some other beverage from it.

"We just got word back through communications," he said smiling. "The _Enterprise_ is on her way. They had been back at the Utopia Planitia shipyards over Mars for a refit and it took 42 hours for our message to relay through subspace and get the answer back. They left as soon as they could get free and will be here in two more days. It'll take 'em that long to make it out this far, even with the new warp drive, but Commodore Kirk will be opening a live comm with you at 2100 this evening. They'll be in range of the Subspace Relay Array at Ursa Majoris Alpha by then."

"I appreciate your help, Captain," Spock answered.

"Anything I can do for you is entirely my pleasure, Commander!" Hendrikson replied. He looked over at Christine. "And how are _you_ feeling, Doctor?"

"Still a little tired, but that is _very_ minor stuff!" the woman answered, feeding the baby another bite of potatoes.

"You've got three fine kids there," Hendrikson commented. "Considering your circumstances, I am absolutely amazed at how healthy and happy they are."

Christine stole a glance at the pouting T'Jenn and replied wistfully, "I'm pretty amazed, too."

"We did everything that was possible for our survival," Spock pointed out.

"Of course you did." Hendrikson paused and took a gulp from his coffee cup. "I haven't even attempted a debriefing of you all because I figure you'll be put through the wringer soon enough once you get back to civilization and the brass get their hands on you. But, if you're up to talking about it, I'd really like to know how all this happened."

Spock sighed and pushed the remains of his salad away, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. "It was a matter of revenge on the part of a Romulan starship commander. I am not at liberty to reveal the details behind it all, as I do not know if that is still classified information or what the state of relations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire is at the moment."

"Well, I can tell you part of _that_ , anyway," the captain answered. "It's why we're out here. Five years ago, there was a dispute over a planet called Sekanus 5. The Romulans claimed it as theirs, but since it was in the Neutral Zone, the Federation didn't want them that close to our space. The Romulans attempted to set up a base there anyhow, and Starfleet went in to stop them. They called in more ships and so did we. Finally there was a major battle there with Kirk and the _Enterprise_ right in the thick of it. They beat the Romulan fleet and they retreated back into their space, but it was a near thing. It could have gone either way and the Romulans were sitting back there, ready to move in again as soon as Starfleet left." Hendrikson took another sip of coffee. "Then the diplomats moved in and over the next three years hammered out a compromise. The Romulans ceded this section of their space to the Federation in exchange for allowing them to annex Sekanus. We're right out on the frontier here, way outside trade lanes or settled space. That's why the _Columbia_ is here now. We're on a survey mission to catalog Class M planets for colonization."

"But how did you happen to find us?" Christine questioned. "That's a pretty big planet down there."

"Well, we picked up a Romulan distress signal on our way to this sector," Hendrikson replied. "It was an old style, realspace beacon and we followed it back to Avalon. Since the Romulans had listed this planet as uninhabited, we wondered who was sending a distress call. We couldn't find the source once we got into orbit, so we scanned for sentient life. There was a helluva storm covering the coastal area — a real bad mother of a hurricane — and we had to wait for it to clear before we could get readings. Then we sent down search and rescue parties and, well—" He spread his hands in conclusion.

Spock and Christine had turned to stare at each other in sudden revelation.

"The Romulan ship!" Spock declared.

"That signal that Sapel accidentally turned on when he was a baby!" Christine confirmed and began to laugh.

* * *

At 2100 that evening, Spock and Christine were waiting in Captain Hendrikson's cabin when the _Columbia's_ communications officer beeped in. "Captain, I have your transmission connection completed."

"Put it through," Hendrikson directed.

The computer screen on his desk showed static for a couple of seconds then abruptly filled with the image of a man's head and shoulders, his face strained and anxious and flooded with myriad emotions. "Captain Hendrikson?" he asked.

"Commodore Kirk," the commander of the _Columbia_ acknowledged. "I have someone here who would like to speak with you."

Without further ado, Hendrikson slid out of his chair and motioned for Spock to take his seat. With a bit of apprehension, the Vulcan did so, facing the man he had not seen in over a decade.

For a long, emotion-charged moment, the two simply stared at one another, throats too tight to speak. Kirk hadn't changed a lot. He was a little heavier and grayer, his ever-youthful face now sporting the lines of late middle-age and command. But the bright hazel eyes were still vibrant and sharp.

Before Spock could say anything, Kirk's brows lowered into a frown and he demanded, "Mr. Spock! Do you have any idea how long you've been absent without leave?!"

Spock's own eyebrows shot up in surprise and his brain did an automatic lightning calculation. "Fifteen years, two months—"

His instant answer was interrupted by Kirk's joyous guffaw. "Spock! Spock! I was kidding!" Kirk wiped a hand over his eyes, which were suddenly brimming with tears. "My God! I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Nor I, you, Captain," the Vulcan answered with a smile.

"And Christine— is she—"

"Right here, Captain," Chapel spoke up, leaning down beside her husband so that the screen camera would pick her up, too.

From behind Kirk came a noise and a gruff voice, "Quit hogging things, Jim!"

On the screen, the commodore was shoved aside and an older man entered the picture. "Chris! Good God, girl — are you all right? Lord, it's good to see you!"

Christine was laughing and crying at the same time. "Leonard! How are you?"

"How am I?! How _would_ I be? And Spock — Jesus H. Christ! You look like a Fiji wild man!"

"As would you, Doctor, had you been through what we have these past few years," Spock replied smoothly, delighted beyond all expectations to be trading barbs with McCoy again.

Kirk pushed his way back into the center screen. "There are some other people here who want to say hello," he said.

That triggered a crush of faces and voices and laughs and sobs as a number of men and women jostled into the camera's view. Prominent among these were Uhura and Scotty, but also a few others who had served closely with the long-missing pair.

Finally Kirk shooed them all away and said, "Come on, let the ladies in here! They've got more right than any of us."

He motioned off-screen and two tall, slim women moved to center stage. Both were identical in face and both bore a striking resemblance to Christine. As she saw them, Chapel gave a cry of mixed gladness and anguish as she reached out to lay her hands on the computer screen. "Maddy!" she sobbed unabashedly. "Jessy!"

"Chrissy! Oh, Chrissy!!" The other two women, Christine's younger twin sisters, Madelyn and Jessalyn Chapel, were weeping just as hysterically at the sight of their older sibling, miraculously back from the dead.

Finally, Uhura and one of the nurses pulled them back and took the young women in their arms, patting backs and offering them support. On their end of the reunion, Spock did the same thing with his wife, wondering for a fleeting second if the application of a nerve pinch was going to once more be necessary.

But all settled down after a few moments and Kirk took center screen again, grinning widely. "Your parents are on their way from Vulcan, Spock. The Council has put their fastest ship at their disposal. They should only be a day or two behind us. The _Enterprise_ is 31 hours away now and Scotty assures me that he'd get out and push if it would make her go any faster."

"Aye!" Scotty put in enthusiastically. "That I would!"

"We also have a Federation debriefing team on board," Kirk continued, a little more seriously. "Get rested up, because both of you will be doing a lot of talking in the next few days."

"Yes, I suspected as much," Spock answered wryly. "We have a very great deal of ... catching up to do."

"On both sides!" Kirk agreed. The picture on the screen flickered. "We're moving out of range of the Big Bear Array," he said. "We'll sign off now, but we'll all see you in just a few more hours! My God! I still can't believe this!"

"Until then, my friends," Spock answered quietly and Christine wiped her face and smiled, too choked to speak.

The screen went dark.

Hendrikson had stood out of the way and let the reunion flow happily along its own route. Now he stepped forward and spoke up in a kindly voice. "If I might be so bold as to make a suggestion... You two look absolutely exhausted. Why not call it a night and get to bed? All the chicks are abed and tomorrow is going to be pretty hectic."

"I find that a superlative suggestion, Captain," Spock replied and rose, pulling Christine to her feet as well. "Again, your hospitality is most appreciated."

"Not at all, not at all." Hendrikson shooed them out of his cabin with a chuckle, filled his massive coffee cup once again from the food slot next to his desk, and sat down to update his daily log. He wanted to be completely caught up before all hell broke loose tomorrow.

* * *

Christine tossed and turned on the bunk, but couldn't find a comfortable position. The family had been assigned a cramped quad cabin with two bunk beds across a narrow aisle from each other and a pair of desks and chairs that took up much of the rest of the room. _Columbia_ was not a large ship, carrying a crew of 32 officers and technicians. All but the five officers were housed in these small cabins, each with his or her own rack, but alternating watches so they didn't fall over one another. The cabin had never meant to sleep two adults and three children at the same time. The four crewmen who normally lived here had graciously given up their quarters to accommodate their guests and had squeezed in wherever they could elsewhere on the ship.

Christine was on the bottom bunk with Spock occupying the bed above her. Across the aisle, the little girls had the lower and Sapel the upper. Around them in the darkness of the cramped cabin, the ship's background noise hummed, the thrum of the engines vibrating up through the deck plates, more felt than heard. Used to the silence and night sounds of the planet below, the woman found she couldn't sleep. The recycled air smelled stale and the feel of the mattress was not the firm surface she was accustomed to.

Apparently she was not the only one awake. A little figure startled her by climbing into bed with her.

"What's the matter, honey?" Christine whispered.

"Gotta tee-tee," said T'Jenn. "Need to go outside."

"We don't go outside here, baby," her mother answered. "We go to the bathroom." She pushed back the covers. "Come on. I'll take you."

On the way to the head, Christine stumbled over an obstacle that shouldn't have been where it was. "Oof! What the—"

"It is only I," answered a deep, quiet voice from the vicinity of the floor and a hand reached to grasp her groping fingers.

"Spock! What are you doing down there?"

"Attempting to meditate ... without much success," the Vulcan replied and rose gracefully out of lotus seat, his form now discernable in the dim safety lights.

"Couldn't you sleep either?" Christine inquired.

"Mama!" insisted T'Jenn, her hands pressed against her groin.

"Duty calls. Back in a minute." Quickly she shepherded her little daughter into the tiny 'fresher and closed the door.

"Wha's going on?" came Sapel's sleepy voice from his bunk.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, son," Spock directed him and went to make sure he was tucked in. The boy lay back down and seemed to settle into sleep once more.

The bathroom door slid open to the accompanying sound of flushing, then the light went out and large and small figures made their way back to bed.

"Wanna sleep with you," Jenny announced.

"Shhhh, you'll wake Kai-Kai," Christine hissed softly.

"I don't like it here, Mama," the child whined sleepily. "I wanna go home! Wanna see Scruffy!"

There was a thin wail from the lower bunk that rose in volume as T'Kai roused from all the commotion. Spock and Christine exchanged tired glances and sighed.

"I was hoping she'd sleep through the night for once," Christine commented.

"Apparently not," Spock responded. He bent and picked up the crying baby but Christine held out her arms to take her.

"Let me have Kai and I'll feed her. See if you can get Jenn settled."

The woman stretched out on her bunk and bared a breast, snuggling T'Kai against her. The baby nuzzled into the proffered nipple and began nursing contentedly.

"Back to bed, _t'cha'i_ ," Spock said, but T'Jenn still fussed.

"Wanna sleep with Mama," she insisted.

"Come and sleep with Papa instead," Spock suggested and scooted back onto the other bunk. That was acceptable with Jenn and soon she was asleep, burrowed into her father's side.

All was quiet for a few minutes then Sapel's voice came softly from the bed over Spock's head. "Papa?"

"Yes."

There was a second of hesitation then the boy said in a melancholy tone, "I don't like it here either. I wanna go home, too."

* * *

Christine reached out and slipped her hand into Spock's, where it was immediately evident that she was trembling. He looked down at her, puzzled. "What is wrong?" he asked.

Embarrassed, she pulled her hand free and wiped her sweaty palm against her pants leg, smiling sheepishly. "I'm scared," she admitted. "Isn't that the silliest thing you've ever heard? I've faced wild animals, blizzards, prairie fires, floods, medical emergencies, childbirth, and who knows what else ... and I'm nervous as hell at the prospect of seeing our families and friends!"

"It is only natural to feel apprehensive," he responded with maddening calmness. "After all, you do not know how you or they will react."

"Well, I'll just be glad when this is over!"

It had been an hour since the two of them had stood on the small bridge of the survey ship and watched the oh-so-familiar shape of the _Enterprise_ slide into orbit about the blue-green expanse of Terra Two. The ship was subtly different, though. The warp nacelles were of a new design, sleeker, faster looking, and there were other small adaptions that testified to the passage of time and technology. Still, there was no doubt that the starship was the beloved vessel they had both called home for so long. A greater surprise was the tiny (by comparison) polished craft that slipped into orbit in the heavy cruiser's wake. Its lines were sleek and cat-like, as fleet as a cheetah and as powerful as a charging lion. And yet those beasts had nothing to do with the overall impression the little ship exuded. This ship had never seen the sun of Earth glint from its brilliant surface nor felt the soft breath of Terra glide past its hull. This ship was Vulcan in every line and nuance, and the fact that it was here attested to the leashed demons that powered its stardrive. It must have managed Warp 12 to arrive at the same time as the big Starfleet ship that cruised ahead of it.

Spock had recognized the emblem blazoned on its surface, had he any doubt whatsoever as to the identities of its passengers. The mark was his House sigil, the ambassador's ship, and he knew that his parents had come at top speed from Vulcan for an eager reunion with their long-lost son.

Now Spock and Christine waited alone in the _Columbia's_ briefing room, which had been turned over to them for the meeting. The children were waiting in their quarters. The adults had decided that it would be easier on all concerned not to have them present at first. And it would be the "icing on the cake," as Christine had put it, to present the kids as the culmination to the festivities.

But the waiting was terrible as their families and friends beamed over from their respective ships and were escorted to the reunion. Christine paced and wrung her hands in agitation, shaking all over. Spock, his imperturbable Vulcan persona firmly in place, stood like an oak, hands clasped behind his back, and simply endured.

Then the door snicked open with a whoosh and the moment they'd been awaiting had arrived.

The first person through the briefing room door was Amanda Grayson, followed closely by Sarek, apparently given deference by the others because of their age and status. In normal circumstances, Amanda would have been behind the ambassador as a proper Vulcan wife should be, but these weren't normal circumstances. Spock felt his breath leave him at the sight of his aged mother, her white hair covered by an elegant headdress, but her blue eyes bright and sharp as they locked immediately onto her tall son.

Tears blurred the alert eyes and then she flung all protocol to the wind and rushed to embrace her boy. For a split second, Spock froze in instinctive reaction, keenly aware of his father striding toward him, in complete control of his emotions, then Spock too gave into the inevitability of the moment and gathered his sobbing mother in his arms, nearly overcome despite himself.

Christine scarcely noticed the reunion of the Vulcan family because she had been enveloped by her two younger sisters, who had fallen upon her with a wail of mixed grief and gladness. All three women were clinging to one another and crying frantically, all three attempting to talk at the same time and none accomplishing anything coherent nor indeed listening to what the others were saying.

Out of the corner of her eye, her vision obscured by her tears, Christine saw Sarek lift his hand, palm outward, and Spock press his own palm against it, his other arm still around Amanda, who hadn't yet released her son. The two Vulcan men stood in dignified silence, gazes locked, palms together. Christine could only imagine what was passing between them.

And then she became aware of the other people who had entered the room and were standing together, waiting for the family reunions to be over. Christine wiped her face and pulled away from Madelyn and Jessalyn Chapel's embrace, then was immediately in the welcoming arms of a stately, strikingly beautiful Bantu woman, her hair now dusted with silver, but her face as youthful as ever. It was a repeat performance of weeping, talking and rocking in one another's arms, then a gruff voice broke in, throat choked with emotion, and demanded his turn.

Another minute and Christine was in the bear hug of her old boss. "Len!" she managed, holding him as tightly as he was her. Then he drew away in embarrassment and surreptitiously ran a hand over his face, leaving it wet.

Christine grinned at him and tried to get her voice to work. "Damn, Len! You got old! What have you been up to?"

"Doing all your work for you, missy," he shot back with a delighted grin of his own. "I need you to get your fanny back to sickbay and clean up that mess you left!"

All present in their little group laughed and began hugging and talking again, then they became aware that one more reunion was going on.

The one person who had stood back, feasting on the sight of a friend long thought dead, had now moved forward and held out his hand to Spock. Without hesitation, the Vulcan grasped Kirk's outstretched hand in a firm clasp and stepped toward his former commanding officer, his face suffused with a warm and affectionate expression, dark eyes crinkled in fulfillment and lips just on the verge of a full, genuine smile.

"Jim," he said simply.

Kirk gave up and yanked Spock into a hard embrace, pounding his friend on the back in undisguised emotion before pulling back, gripping Spock by the shoulders and holding him at arm's length, grinning from ear to ear. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him and he finally resorted to another quick, hard, back-thumping embrace.

When he was finally released, Spock raised a brow and declared in a somewhat ironic voice, "It is good to see you as well, Captain."

That broke Kirk's helpless silence with a deep, appreciative laugh, and he had to wipe his streaming eyes with the heel of one hand, before turning to greet Christine and giving McCoy and Uhura their chance at welcoming Spock home.

For the next hour, the gathering mingled and talked in joyous chaos, punctuated by many hugs and bits of news. Amanda was seated early on at the briefing table, unable to stand for longer than a short while. She was quite elderly now, the past fifteen years having taken their toll upon her, but she positively sparkled as she visually followed Spock around the room, unable to take her eyes off him. After a while, he came and sat in the chair next to her, where she gripped his arm with surprising strength and continued to devour every nuance of his features.

"Has it been hard?" she asked finally, noting the scars he bore and the weathered texture of his face.

He gazed at her for a moment, solemn, despite the half-smile on his lips, and finally nodded. "The hardest thing I have ever endured," he answered softly. "If it weren't for Christine, I would not have survived ... either emotionally or physically. She has become the strength and flame of my heart."

Amanda smiled and nodded. "I can tell. When you two look at each other, there is absolute adoration in your eyes. Now you know what your father and I have felt for each other all these years."

"Yes," Spock responded in a barely audible voice. "Now I understand." He looked up and caught Christine's gaze, and something very meaningful passed between them. She smiled warmly and gave a little nod of agreement. Spock turned to Amanda and said, "I need to retrieve something from our quarters. I will only be gone for a few moments."

Then he rose and swiftly left the room.

* * *

True to his word, Spock was back within about ten minutes. As he stepped through the briefing room door, he glanced at Christine and she rose and went to join him. Lifting his hand and signaling for silence, he took a few seconds to look at each of the others in turn, making sure that he had their attention.

"Family members and friends," he said quietly. "Early into our exile on Avalon, which we called Terra Two, Christine and I pledged our bond to one another. Not only was it the logical thing to do, but we found that our relationship had become a close friendship and that friendship had turned into a deeper and more permanent attachment."

"He means we fell in love," Christine supplied, smiling up at her husband, her blue eyes twinkling.

McCoy let out a triumphant whoop but was silenced by a meaningful glance from Spock, who was obviously not finished with his speech. "We have been together now for twelve Avalon years ... fifteen Federation Standard ... and we have helped each other through many hardships and trials. But not all was a struggle for survival. There have been incredibly happy occurrences as well." He paused for a second then announced, "My family and friends ... may I introduce you ... to our children."

With that, he activated the door sensor and the panel slid back with a whoosh.

There was dead quiet as, with trepidation, Sapel walked in carrying T'Kai, T'Jenn hanging onto his shirt tail with her thumb firmly planted in her mouth. The older two children looked decidedly scared, not knowing what to expect at meeting this group of strangers, their gazes darting uncertainly from person to person. The baby merely stared in open curiosity, although she was well aware of the tension and excitement permeating the room.

Amanda's hands had flown to her face and she had gone as white as her hair, her eyes brimming with sudden tears.

Alarmed at the surge of emotion he was feeling through their mindbond, Sarek laid a hand on her shoulder but was himself rendered speechless at this sudden disclosure by Spock. No one else in the room seemed to be breathing at all, though their mouths were hanging open in shock.

Then McCoy broke the silence with his usual aplomb. "Spock, you filthy dog! I didn't think you had it in you!"

The Vulcan's brows shot skyward as he returned an affronted gaze at his old comrade. "Really, Doctor!"

That broke everyone up and the breathing and laughter and the noise of congratulations filled the briefing room all over again. Christine took T'Kai from Sapel while Spock slipped T'Jenn's small hand into his. When things had quieted a bit once more, Spock continued the introductions.

"This is Sapel. He was born at the end of our first winter here. He is eleven by Avalon reckoning, 14 by Standard. This is T'Jenn. She was born five years ago at our coastal cabin during the spring. And the youngest is T'Kai, who was born in the autumn, 24 Avalonian months ago."

"Oh, they are so beautiful!" Amanda exclaimed, tears streaming down her face. "I never expected this, Spock! Christine, they are gorgeous!"

"Thank you," the other women smiled with genuine pleasure, then a hint of sadness touched her eyes. "There were two others, but they died at birth. I wish we could have brought all of them home to you."

"Oh," was all that Amanda could manage, still overwhelmed by it all and now with the added sorrow that she'd lost two grandchildren without ever knowing them.

"Children, these are my parents ... your grandparents," Spock stated. "This is _lo'uk-sa-mehk_ Sarek and _lo'uk-ko-mehk_ Amanda."

"I greet you, my son's son and daughters," Sarek answered formally, but Amanda rose to her feet and pulled Sapel and T'Jenn into her arms, hugging them fiercely.

"Oh, stop being so Vulcan, Sarek," she admonished her dignified husband. "These are our grandbabies!"

"Mother, please," Spock chided gently, slightly embarrassed by Amanda's ebullient display.

"Spock — shut up!" his mother responded. "Christine, give me that precious baby!"

Laughing, Christine handed T'Kai over to her mother-in-law's welcoming arms, then everyone was crowding around, being introduced and the happy chaos was in full swing once again. Soon the baby was being passed around between the women, Madelyn Chapel was down on her knees with T'Jenn, listening to her adventures with Scruffy, Sapel was getting to know his grandmother, and Kirk and McCoy were both slapping Spock heartily on the back and declaring that they'd have to throw a party to wet all these kids' heads.

"Wet their heads?" Sarek repeated in puzzlement to Christine's other sister.

"It means to celebrate and welcome the child into the family, Mr. Ambassador," Jessalyn Chapel answered, now holding baby T'Kai.

"Ah...."

"It means to get drunk!" Uhura corrected her. "Jess, my turn! Hand her over!"

T'Kai, however, had been subjected to much more stimulation than she was used to and, as Uhura took her, the toddler screwed her face up and began to cry.

"Oh, dear! What did I do?" Uhura asked helplessly, looking around at Christine. "Is she wet? Hungry? Tired?"

"All of the above, I suspect," Christine answered and gathered her baby back to herself, where the child quieted a little, but continued to whimper. "And I think probably all of them could use a rest. Spock, I'm going to take the kids back to our cabin, feed them, and put them down for a nap."

"I don't need a nap, Mama," Sapel protested. "I'm too big for that."

"No, but you need some lunch and a little break," his mother answered. "This has been a lot of stress on all of you. Come along. Folks — we will pick this up a little later!" With that, she shooed her children out the door to the farewells of all there.

"And you, my wife, also need a recess," Sarek told Amanda, who was again sitting, still looking pale. "You have not been well and it is time for your medication and afternoon rest period."

"He hovers over me like an old hen," Amanda confided in Uhura. "You'd think I was a complete invalid."

Uhura chuckled, but Amanda obediently rose to her feet and came to grasp her son's hands. "We will expect all of you for dinner on the _Kahs-khiori_ ," she told him. "I've got a lot of catching up to do with those babies!"

"We shall be there promptly," Spock assured her, then watched as Sarek ushered his frail wife out the door.

"We'll be going back to the _Enterprise_ , too," Madelyn said. "Spock, we're so glad to have you and the kids as a part of the Chapel family now. We'll have to do a dinner date with you all, too."

Her twin, Jessalyn, nodded in agreement and put in, "Never thought we'd have a Vulcan for a brother-in-law, but it's going to be kind of nice. I'll look forward to getting to know you."

"Thank you," Spock answered solemnly then turned to Kirk, McCoy and Uhura as the women departed.

Alone at last, the four shipmates simply stared at one another for a moment, then Kirk smiled and said, "I don't know about you all, but I could use some coffee. How about you?"

"I'd like a good old fashioned bourbon, myself," McCoy replied, "but I suppose it's a little early for that."

"I'd better be getting back to the ship," Uhura commented. "Scotty will be wanting to get back to the engine room. He hates to be left in command so long."

"Agreed," Kirk answered. "Maintain standard orbit, Commander, and make sure Ferguson has the away teams for the survey parties ready to go by 1500. I'll get your report once I come back aboard."

"Aye, sir. Spock, we are so glad to have you back with us!" With a dazzling smile, Uhura left.

The Vulcan let one eyebrow rise gently. "Commander? It is gratifying to hear that Miss Uhura has progressed in rank, although it is logical that she should do so. She has a number of duties, I see."

Kirk paused and a mischievous smile pulled at his lips. "Just the usual stuff ... for a first officer," he answered nonchalantly.

"First officer?!" Spock was caught by surprise and the shocking realization that he himself no longer occupied that position.

"Well, you never came back from that trip over to the space station and I had to have _someone_ backing me up."

"Indeed. But I assumed that Mr. Scott or Mr. Sulu would have that position."

Kirk shook his head. "Scotty was offered the exec position, but couldn't be pulled away from his engines for a command position. Sulu did take the second seat for a couple of years, but he's captain of his own ship now. Nyota got tired of opening frequencies and took line officer training. She's been my second in command for six years now."

"And science officer? Who has that position now? Mr. Chekov?"

"No. Chekov is first officer on the _Reliant_ , one of the new frigates that's been rolling out of the shipyards during the past couple of years." Kirk looked bemused. "We had an almost complete crew turnover when our latest mission began. Our science officer now is an Andorian named Quevan s'Rek. Starfleet is full of non-Terran races now. You paved the way for a lot of people who wouldn't have made it into the Fleet twenty years ago."

"That is pleasing to hear."

Kirk retrieved a cup of coffee from the food slot in the room, then sat at the conference table as McCoy did likewise.

Spock simply seated himself across from the _Enterprise's_ captain and folded his hands on the table. As McCoy joined them, he said conversationally, "You know, Jim, I sort of like that ponytail of Spock's. Think I'll grow one, too."

"You tried a beard a few years ago and shaved it off because it itched too much," Kirk pointed out. "What makes you think you'd handle a ponytail any better?" The doctor shrugged and sipped his coffee.

Spock commented, "There are very few barber shops on Avalon, Dr. McCoy. Long hair became the fashion there."

McCoy just grunted in reply.

Kirk turned serious and changed the subject. "Spock, you know we have Federation and Starfleet investigators on board, don't you? They're here to interrogate you and Christine about everything that has happened over the past fifteen years. Not only get your personal story, but how the Romulans were involved in it all. I believe your father is going to come aboard as well as a representative of the Vulcan government to protect your rights since you are a Vulcan citizen. As soon as you and Christine and the kids transfer your things over to the _Enterprise_ , we're to leave orbit and start back to Earth. The interviews will take place while we're en route."

Spock nodded. "Yes, I expected that. However, before we leave orbit, Christine and I would like to beam back down to the planet and retrieve our belongings from our dwelling places."

"Yes. I'd like to see where you lived all this time," Jim responded. "Plus we need to tape the sites for the record. Then the colonization survey teams can move in and do their job."

"There might be a problem with colonizing this planet, Jim," Spock stated.

"Oh, why?" Kirk questioned.

"Because Avalon is already inhabited," the Vulcan stated calmly.

* * *

Spock drew a deep breath of the fresh, pine-scented air and felt that his lungs were clean for the first time in days. It had only been about a week since their rescue, but already he had found himself missing the brisk, bracing air of Terra Two. The stale, recycled atmosphere of the various ships all held a faint redolence of chemicals, too many people, and the lack of life. The air was dead and parched. All five of them had found themselves with dry, irritated nasal linings and cracked lips, even Spock whose desert-bred constitution should have been immune to such things.

But even he now found himself gulping in lungs full of the fragrant air of their erstwhile home. He noticed Christine and the kids doing the same as they explored the forlorn site of their Sea Home cabin in the company of Commodore Kirk, Sarek, the two Federation investigators, and a half dozen other scientists from both _Enterprise_ and _Columbia_.

Spock's disclosure that Avalon was already inhabited by a primitive, sentient race had brought the survey teams to a screeching halt. This had put a whole new light on the situation and Avalon had been slapped under a Grade B quarantine until this could be thoroughly investigated and a decision made by the Federation Survey and Colonization Commission. The lemuroids were covered by the Prime Directive regarding contact because they were a non-warp culture, rating barely out of the Stone Age by Earth standards. However, they had already had extensive contact with Spock, Christine and the children, so contamination had already occurred. Spock and Christine, as Starfleet officers, would be required to face a Starfleet inquiry board to explain their violation of General Order No. 1. Kirk protested vehemently via subspace that this was a ridiculous charge, considering the circumstances, and Sarek weighed in with all his considerable influence, but the ruling would not be changed. Spock and Christine would be brought before a hearing panel upon their return to Earth.

Meanwhile, still fuming, Commodore Kirk ordered a halt to all planetside surveys until the Lemurian communities could be pinpointed and identified. Then they would await word on the decision on whether or not Avalon could be explored. Orbital mapping would continue.

It was agreed that a visit would be made by teams from both ships to the various sites where the family had lived to collect their belongings, document the living conditions and surroundings, and make a quick recon. There was also curiosity on the part of many, including Kirk, simply to see the places his friends had occupied during their exile.

They had taken two shuttles down rather than transport, giving Spock and Christine their first aerial view of the planet. Green and gold, its oceans turquoise and dotted with island archipelagos, skies streaked with white clouds, Avalon spread out before them in all its glory. As they approached a large northern continent, features began to become recognizable — vast yellow prairies, rivers winding down to the sea, mountains rearing to the west, tapering into an uplift of hills, forests stretching south until they gave way to coastal plains, barrier islands, and marshes. To the north, between mountains and plains, a volcano smoldered lazily, its ashy cloud blown eastward on high altitude winds.

As the shuttles coasted in lower, a particular river meandered southeast and cut through low hills until it spilled into the sea. The pilot of their shuttle swung the craft around and brought it finally to a gentle rest in a clearing in tall woods. The second shuttle landed nearby.

As soon as he stepped from the little ship, Spock knew where he was. Sea Home — or what was left of it. The debris and jumble of logs that were the aftermath of the hurricane was as they'd left it.

Christine and the two older children disembarked next, little T'Kai having been left in the care of her grandmother and two aunts. Kirk stepped out next and paused to gawk.

"Lord!" he exclaimed. "You actually lived here?"

"It was quite a good cabin," Spock answered. "It stood for seven years or more until the storm destroyed it."

"Remarkable," Sarek interjected, joining them from the other shuttle. He had traded his usual robes for a more utilitarian jumpsuit and boots, though it made him no less imposing a figure.

Sapel touched him lightly on the arm, having already learned that it was bad form to lay hands on the venerable Vulcan. " _Sa-mehk_? Come on and I'll show you around."

"I would enjoy that, _lo'uk-cha'i_ ," Sarek replied and allowed the boy to guide him away.

"Wanna go!" T'Jenn declared and hurried after them.

The various members of the landing party dispersed throughout the site, taking holos, picking through the debris, having Spock and Christine point out various things to them and explain how they were done. Most marveled that the two of them could have actually constructed the log cabin, for the logs were unwieldy and heavy. "A simple A-frame and rope will lift quite a lot," Spock commented laconically.

As the morning wore on toward midday, Spock and Christine found themselves wandering down the hillside toward the little hot spring and pool that had been the location of so many scenes of love and relaxation. There was a lot of storm debris littering the area, but the pool itself was clear once more, the running water having swept itself clean after a few days.

Here on its banks, wreathed by its eternal mists, both paused to reflect on its beauty and serenity. Spock's hand slipped into his wife's and they stood silently for a long time, reliving through their bond erotic fantasies played out in the steaming waters, or times when they'd simply lain in the simmering heat and let their tired bodies languish, soothing sore muscles and exhausted minds, or occasions when the warming bath had cleansed them all and washed away the grime of daily living. But mostly it was the time of love that they both remembered so well and Spock turned to meet his _t'hy'la_ 's deep blue eyes, adoration in both their gazes speaking more than words could say.

Footsteps coming through the trees behind them caused Spock to abruptly release his hold on Christine's hand and he hurriedly straightened and faced forward. Sapel and T'Jenn ran past them, followed in a moment by Sarek who was not as agile as the children.

When he had reached the pair, the elder Vulcan paused to catch his breath, softly as if ashamed that the hike had winded him, then said conversationally, "The children have shown me the beach and various fauna there. Is it true, Spock, that you ate fish and other animal flesh?" There was a tone of slight horror in Sarek's voice.

Spock turned to face him, eyes cool and steady. "It was logical," he answered with stony inflection. "Survival dictated that all food sources be utilized."

"I see." Sarek was silent once more, reflecting on this. "I trust you meditated on this decision before it was implemented."

Spock's brows lowered fractionally. "Father, I see no need to justify my actions to you. What I have done was necessary and logical. I am at peace with my decision. If you find that you must meditate in order to accept it, then so be it. But what is done, is done. _Kai'idth_. _Kh'askeyralatha c'thia_. Logic makes the way of things clear."

Sarek bowed his head in a small nod of acceptance. "Thy logic supersedes mine, my son. I may not condemn your actions when I have not experienced the trials that you have undergone."

Christine had been standing by uncomfortably, an unwilling party to this confrontation between her husband and his father. Now she cleared her throat and said, "I'd better check on the children. Excuse me." She hurried away in the direction the two had gone.

Spock and Sarek watched her go, the tension still evident between them, then Sarek said in a gentler tone, "I believe the logic of your choice of mates is clear as well, my son."

Spock cast a wary glance his way. "The logic of choice is that there was no one else to choose, my father. There was just the two of us here."

"Now you seek rationalization where none is needed, Spock." The older Vulcan's eyes were steady but held a hint of amusement. "Did I not tell you once that my marrying your mother was the logical thing to do? What do you suppose I meant by that?"

An eyebrow rose. "That you found her compatible and a fit companion for life."

"And do you believe that our marriage has lasted all these years on simply those grounds?" Sarek could not suppress the tiny smile that pulled at his lips. "Spock, what I believe you feel for Christine is exactly what I have felt for your mother during our marriage. She would say that I love her. Perhaps I do. I cannot tell, since Vulcans are trained to believe that they can experience no such emotion. However, if what I feel for Amanda is love, then, yes, I can say that I do indeed love her. I observed you and Christine as I entered the clearing a few moments ago. I think I can safely say that you love her, as well."

Spock could not speak. This was the most open and extraordinary speech he'd ever heard issue from his father's lips and he did not know how to respond. Instead, he merely nodded in assent.

He was saved from any further need to discuss this uncomfortable subject with Sarek when he observed Christine and the two children coming back towards them. Sapel was holding a large golden object in his arms, which Spock recognized at once.

T'Jenn hurried up to her father, pointed back and exclaimed in delight, "Look who we found, Papa! Scruffy!!"

As soon as Scruffy laid eyes on Sarek, she flattened her ears against her skull and snarled in warning. The Vulcan took the hint and said, "My presence seems to be upsetting to the animal. I will wait near the shuttles." With that, he quietly withdrew, leaving the family alone.

They all knelt around the cat, petting and soothing her until her low growls stopped and changed to purrs, her pupils shrinking from full dilation to slits in her green eyes.

"Why'd she act like that?" Sapel queried, stroking his pet's thick golden fur. "He wasn't gonna hurt her."

"Your grandfather is a stranger to her," Christine answered. "Scruffy's never seen any people besides us. She didn't even like Picku's people, remember?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Sapel admitted. "But she'll get used to people, won't she? I mean, there'll be a lot of people around from now on, right?"

Spock caught his wife's eye and the two exchanged a quick, meaningful glance. Then Spock answered softly, "I do not believe it will be possible for Scruffy to come with us where we are going."

"Huh?!"

"What?!"

Both children reacted with identical shock, then burst out simultaneously: "No! She's gotta come!" "Want Scruffy!"

Their father held up a hand for silence. "Think about how it will be for Scruffy," he said gently. "She is free and wild here, living as she is meant to live. Would you imprison her in a world that she can never adapt to? Force her to live in fear and confusion for the rest of her life? Never seeing another of her own kind, simply so that you can have her as a pet?"

T'Jenn was crying opening and Sapel's eyes were magnified with brimming tears. "But she'd have us," he pleaded. "I'd take care of her!"

Christine had noticed a dappled shape among the shadows down the hill. She nodded in that direction. "Would she have her mate, Sapel? He's waiting for her there. And she's expecting this year's cubs already. I can feel them inside her. Would you take them away from their world, too?"

"But ... but I love Scruffy, Mama!" the boy protested.

"We all love her, baby," his mother answered quietly. "But sometimes love means doing what's best for the one you love ... even if it hurts you."

Jenny crawled into Spock's lap and put her arms around his neck, weeping piteously, too upset to speak. He cradled her close, willing comfort to soothe her agony. Down the hill, the male hunting cat was watching them intently and gave a short growl.

Scruffy responded at once with a rough meow and tried to get free of Sapel's arms. The boy held on tighter.

"Do what you feel is best," Spock murmured to his son, then said nothing more.

For a long minute, they could see the battle going on inside the youth, then Sapel hugged the cat tight, his eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking between his dark lashes. Then he loosened his grip and set the animal free.

"Go on, Scruffy," he said hoarsely. "Get out of here!"

The spotted cat paused to peer at him for a second, giving an inquisitive little mew. Then she turned and sprinted down the hillside toward her mate and the two sleek animals disappeared into the sun-dappled woods, melting away as if they'd never existed.

Spock rose smoothly to his feet, T'Jenn still clinging to his neck, and Christine stood up beside him. Slowly, Sapel got to his feet as well, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. After a while, the adults turned and left the burbling little pool behind, and with it a part of their lives, forever.

Sapel stayed for a good while longer, his eyes locked on the place where the hunting cats had vanished into the woods. Then finally he whispered to the mists, "Goodbye, Scruffy. Goodbye..." and turned to follow his parents back to the clearing.

* * *

It had been a long day and promised to be another one tomorrow. After concluding their business at Sea Home and collecting the things the family wanted to salvage, the two shuttles had lifted off and skimmed lightly over the green plains toward the low hills on the northwest horizon. Below them, vast herds of grazing animals spooked and scattered briefly at the passage of the strange flying beasts, then settled back to their endless feeding and movement along the numerous game trails cross-crossing the savannah.

Looking down on a herd of primitive horses, Sapel asked his mother, "Do you think Mezzie and the foal made it through the storm, Mama?"

"I don't know, honey," Christine answered honestly. "I don't suppose we'll ever know for sure. But we can hope for the best and wish them well."

Sapel nodded and was silent, watching the land slide past.

It took another two hours before they located the wreckage of the Romulan ship that the family had called home for a while. Spock didn't know the precise location and had never searched for it from the air. The shuttles were forced to fly a grid pattern before finally spotting it amid a thick overgrowth of vegetation and the remains of a rockslide that partially covered it.

By the time the shuttles set down nearby, the sun was lowering in the western sky, almost behind the hills, and the shadows had grown long. In the late afternoon light, the once sleek little ship, now a scorched ruin, looked even more forlorn. Spock had done a thorough job of destroying it when they'd last left here, over five years before.

Kirk paused to let his gaze roam over the hulk, then asked, "Why burn it, though, Spock?"

"Starfleet was not the only ones who picked up our distress signal," the Vulcan answered solemnly. "This area of space is unpatrolled. Pirates operate here and found us. We barely got away with our lives."

Christine cast a glance her husband's way. Spock was not even touching on the whole story. Mad with the fevers of _pon farr_ , Spock had killed two men with his bare hands, his inflamed mind seeing only rival males intent on taking his mate. Sapel, too, had been threatened. Alone on his _kahs'wan_ , he had watched his beloved pet Mooch be vaporized by one of the raiders, but had lured the man to his own death at the teeth and claws of hill lions. The other one had managed to escape. After all was over, the Mating fever burned away and the family reunited, Spock had realized that they were no longer safe at the ship. He had burned it and led his pregnant wife and son south on their way to the sea.

But now Spock said nothing of these events, though he was quiet and introspective, watching the Starfleet investigators bustle around the site.

Sarek had noted his son's mood and asked quietly, "This spot holds troubled memories for you, Spock?"

"Yes ... but good ones, too," the younger Vulcan answered in a like tone. "There is a long story associated with the events that happened here."

"It will be told when you are ready," Sarek answered philosophically.

A far off sound caught Spock's sharp hearing and he noted that the sun had now dropped behind the hills. He turned to Kirk. "Jim, I do not recommend staying here after dark. There are large predators in the area. I would suggest concluding today's activities and returning in the morning."

As if to underscore his warning, there came a muted roar from about a mile away. It was echoed by one much closer.

"I see what you mean," Kirk commented. "All right, people! Wrap it up! We'll resume this tomorrow."

They dropped a locator beacon next to the ship and called it a day. The two shuttlecraft lifted in a cloud of dust and shot off into the sky, bound for their respective ships.

While the family had been gone, their meager belongings had been transferred to larger quarters on the _Enterprise_. The newly refitted ship now contained two family suites and larger‑sized VIP staterooms. One of the ship's duties was to transport dignitaries between outlying Federation worlds and there had never been quite enough room on board for such things.

Spock and Christine were now assigned one of the two-bedroom suites while Sarek and Amanda moved their things from the Vulcan ship over to one of the staterooms. Amanda had decided not to return to Vulcan and be parted from her newly discovered grandchildren, and the _Kahs-khiori_ was dispatched back to its home planet. Elsewhere on board the _Enterprise_ , Christine's two sisters, Madalyn and Jessalyn, were already at home in the stateroom they had occupied on the voyage out.

The U.S.S. _Columbia_ , its survey duties on Avalon stopped abruptly until the Federation brass could rule on the quarantine question, had been ordered to proceed to its next assignment. They would be pulling out within the next eighteen hours. Kirk hosted a quiet dinner that evening with Captain Frank Hendrikson and Dr. Olga Karotkin as his guests, along with the Vulcans and Chapels. There was nothing formal about the dinner and it had the air more of a family meal than an official function.

After the meal was finished, the children began to yawn and the women herded them out for baths and beds. Karotkin retired to one corner with McCoy, deep in medical discussions about her findings on the parasites taken from the exiles. Though Karotkin would keep the samples and add them to _Columbia's_ research logs, she had transferred copies of her notes and sections of the specimens to the _Enterprise_ for McCoy's benefit. He planned to go over his patients with a fine tooth comb once they were on their way back to Earth. But for now, the two ship's surgeons engaged in shop talk over after-dinner whiskeys.

Relaxing around the cleared dining table, Kirk and Hendrikson opted for brandy, Spock and Sarek preferring a sweet Vulcan dessert wine made from a berry that grew in that planet's arctic region. It had been nearly two decades since Spock had tasted the slightly intoxicating vintage and he sipped it slowly and appreciatively.

"So," said Kirk conversationally to Hendrikson. "Where are you off to?"

"Second star to the right and straight on til morning," the big man grinned. "Actually, it doesn't really have a name yet. Grid 423 mark 8 is what my charts say. We named the last three planets we explored for legendary places — Atlantis, El Dorado, and Avalon. Maybe we'll call the next one Neverland. Who knows?"

"Sounds okay by me," Kirk laughed and took a sip of his drink.

"That seems a highly illogical method for naming planets," Sarek commented drily. "Such fantastical names do not set forth an adequate description of those worlds."

"Well, forgive me, Mr. Ambassador," Hendrikson answered good-naturedly. "We humans are highly illogical, as you well know. In any case, those won't be the names that go down on the books. That's left up to the Federation Mapping and Survey Division. Undoubtedly, it will be something completely dull and completely accurate."

Sarek twitched an eyebrow and conceded the argument. He was in too mellow a mood to dispute it much, in any case. Although not admitting it even to himself, he was highly pleased to have his son back alive and well, not to mention his newly discovered daughter-in-law and grandchildren. He had been more distressed than was seemly when Spock had disappeared and had thrown all his considerable power and influence into the search and rescue effort. When it appeared that the Romulans were involved in a vengeance kidnapping, Sarek's panic and ire had threatened to overwhelm his emotional control and only the countering effects of the Vulcan Council's steel-hard mastery had prevented a diplomatic disaster. Sarek had been shamed by his loss of self-esteem but admitted to the Council that he was not able to think clearly in this situation. They had taken over the investigation and it was a bitter blow to Sarek when, ten years later, Spock had been declared missing in space and presumed dead.

He had almost lost Amanda as well, who had grieved nearly to the point of insanity for her lost child, aging years by the time she had finally accepted the loss.

Now Sarek cast an eye toward the tall man sitting next to him, his face sunburnt and marked by the years of hardship, the long black hair threaded through with a dusting of silver at the temples that gave testimony to the fact that Spock had aged as well. Sarek's heart pounded with sudden emotion at the memory of his grief when he had thought Spock gone forever. No matter what their differences, this was still his son and he cherished him above nearly all things.

"And you, Commander Spock?" Hendrikson was saying. "What do you and your family have planned once you get home?"

Spock quirked a brow in a manner similar to his father. "I have not considered our plans beyond the upcoming debriefing and how we will handle the resulting media frenzy that is certain to ensue."

Kirk nodded. "We've kept things quiet until now, but the news will be announced officially as soon as the Starfleet Public Relations Department is notified. I'm surprised word hasn't leaked unofficially by now."

"We've kept as tight a lid on our communications as you have, Jim," Hendrikson answered with a flash in his eye that showed his command ability coming out. "Nothing will leave _Columbia_ until we get the official word that it's okay to do so."

Kirk toasted his fellow captain with a lift of his glass. Then Hendrikson was back to his normal jolly self. "Anyway, Commander, if you find you need a hidey hole for you and your family to escape the press, why not pop over to Risa and we'll put you up there for a while."

"Risa?"

"That's my home port," Hendrikson answered. "My wife and girls run a beach resort there while I'm in space. Oh, not what you're thinking! Most of Risa isn't the pleasure port that everyone thinks of. It's really a great place to live. We've got a big house on the coast of Panattoni Island that we open up to guests during the summer season. Here ... I'll show you..."

The _Columbia_ commander dug into his waist pouch and produced a flat holo that he handed over for Spock's viewing. It showed a vast, rustic dwelling amid swaying palms and pristine sands. In front were an older woman and two teenage girls, waving at the camera. Spock's brows shot up at the sight of the younger girl — her long black hair rippling in the sea breeze and her bright green eyes sparkling with merriment. It was the girl in Sapel's dream! The one Spock had seen in his mind when he'd melded with his son in an effort to allay the boy's troubled thoughts!

Hendrikson missed the Vulcan's sudden startlement and reached over to point out the figures in the holo. "That's my wife, Verise, my oldest daughter, Lelani, and my youngest, Maia."

Kirk and Sarek leaned to look. "Handsome family," Jim commented.

"Indeed," Sarek responded.

"Yes," Spock said simply and handed the holo back to Hendrikson, who returned it to his wallet then got to his feet.

"Well, Jim, it's been a grand evening, but we'd better be getting back if we're going to get out of here on schedule. Olga, you done bending the doctor's ear?"

"No, but I suppose it will just have to wait until we can meet again," the big woman answered, also rising. "Leonard, you send me results on those tests, yes?"

"You bet I will. Been a pleasure."

Hendrikson stuck out his hand and engulfed Kirk's in his large paw. "Jim, thanks for a great meal. Good sailing."

"Clear skies, Frank," the younger man replied. "And good sailing to you, too."

* * *

Spock moved as silently as he knew how, undressing in the suite's 'fresher, taking a short but relaxing sonic shower, then stepping out into the dark bedroom and making his way naked to the bureau to retrieve clean undershorts and t-shirt as he made ready for bed. Christine was already asleep, obviously still recovering from her ordeal and exhausted, and he moved about the darkened cabin without benefit of anything but the dimmest of safety lights. With his pupils expanded like a cat's to gather in the maximum amount of illumination, his superior night vision allowed him to maneuver with ease.

They had found their cabin closet and dresser stocked with standard Starfleet clothing and were now both getting used to the feel of cotton and synthetics after so long wearing nothing but leather and furs. Spock found it especially nice to feel soft, pliant material against his skin after the sometimes chafing loincloth.

Taking out a pair of regulation black briefs, he was bending to step into them when Christine's soft voice came from the shadows, "You don't have to wear those to bed, you know."

He straightened, abandoning the act of donning the shorts. "I didn't mean to wake you," he answered in a quiet voice.

"I was just dozing," she replied in a sleepy tone. "Waiting for you to come to bed."

There was a slightly playful quality in her voice that he knew well and he returned the underwear to its drawer, then walked easily into the sleeping chamber. His night vision allowed him to see her gown draped over a chair, thus he was not surprised to find her nude as he slipped beneath the sheets beside her.

"I still like sleeping this way," she commented, answering his unasked question. "Just got too used to it, I suppose."

"I too enjoy the freedom of sleeping unhampered by clothing," he responded, taking her into his arms, relishing the sensation of skin against skin. "It is common in the hotter regions of Vulcan, although the night can become quiet cold in the desert."

"Nice to snuggle up together and share body heat," she smiled and lifted her face to his lips.

For a long time, they exchanged gentle, probing kisses, caressing each other's body as the flames of desire awakened in them both. Feeling the growing hardness against her groin, Christine slid a leg up over his hip and allowed his swollen manhood to slip into the welcoming valley between her thighs. He made no move to enter her, though, simply savoring the intimate closeness this action brought. Just having him there was delicious and she groaned quietly, tilting her head back against the pillow. Spock let his lips trail down her throat to nuzzle her steady, throbbing pulse.

"Oh, it feels so good to be in a real bed with you again," she sighed, stroking his long hair away from her face and using the motion to trail her fingertips down the curve of his ear. He shuddered slightly as a result and moved his mouth up to suck at her earlobe, pulling it gently through his teeth. "Mmmmm," Christine continued. "I thought about our first time on the Romulan ship when we were back there this afternoon."

"Did you?" he murmured. "I did, too." He nibbled along her jawline and down her neck to her collarbone, one large hand engulfing a full breast, kneading it gently, feeling the dampness that had broken out on her skin. The heat of her body increased as he bent to fondle the supple globe, trailing his tongue over the nipple and teasing it to full erection. Then he paused and drew in a deep breath through his nose. "You have a different scent," he commented in a slightly puzzled manner.

Christine's light giggle bubbled up. "You can tell, huh?"

He snuffled her skin again, the action tickling her, so that she instinctively pushed at his shoulder to make him stop as she laughed. "I cannot tell why it has changed. Is it the soap or shampoo you have begun using?"

"Maybe, but I think it's something else," she chuckled.

"What?" The subtle odor of her skin was more like a faint musk, barely detectable except that he knew her scent so intimately. He nuzzled her breast again, trying to identify the change in her.

"Okay, okay!" She couldn't keep it to herself any longer. "I took advantage of our return to the 23rd century," she grinned, her white teeth giving evidence of her delight. "I had Dr. McCoy give me an injection of contraceptive yesterday. No more worries about getting pregnant again, unless we decide we want to! Unless we have it reversed, it will last at least a year!"

Spock had lifted his head to peer at her and now his brows rose in revelation. "Ah! So that's where you were yesterday afternoon."

"I had to wait 24 hours for it to assimilate, but now we're good to go whenever we want!"

"Hence the reason you were lying in wait for me like this," he surmised, squeezing her breast firmly.

"Exactly!" Her throaty voice lowered to a rough, suggestive whisper. "I've got you in a real bed now and don't have to watch what phase the moons are in anymore. I hope you're ready, mister, because from here on in ... it's gonna be _pon farr_ tonight!" And she pulled him into a hot, fervent kiss that left no doubt whatsoever how he would be spending the rest of the evening.

* * *

Spock came slowly awake, the slightly increased light making him think it was dawn and wondering for a second why there were no birds twittering in their usual early morning chorus. Then his mind centered itself and he remembered where he was. The lights in the cabin had begun their subtle, preprogrammed elevation that mimicked the dawn, bringing the human mind, with its genetically set diurnal rhythm, slowly back to consciousness. All over the ship, the corridors and main work areas would be growing brighter by degrees from the low levels that represented night on board. First watch would be waking up as chron alarms signaled 0530. Elsewhere, second watch would be asleep in their darkened cabins, having come off shift at midnight. Third watch would still be on duty, waiting for their reliefs to show up at 0700, thus beginning another "day" in space.

It felt so comfortable to Spock — three eight-hour shifts, endlessly repeating. He had lived that schedule for his entire adult existence, standing all watches as was his responsibility, sometimes not leaving his post for over 24 hours, if circumstances demanded it. As First Officer, he'd made a point of visiting all departments during all shifts, hitting each one at least once a month. It kept everyone on their toes, not knowing if "the Ghost walks" — he chuckled silently at the crew's appellation for him — but also allowing him to get to know everyone on board.

No more, however. He and Christine were no longer part of this ship. They were both "Starfleet/Deceased". Ghosts, indeed. Spock was not looking forward to the years of interplanetary legal wrangling that would begin once they had returned from the dead, as it were. His head spun as he considered all that would need to be done, then resolutely stopped this line of thought. He would simply have to turn it all over to the family attorneys and let them handle it. It was illogical to waste time worrying about it. With Vulcan discipline, he ceased to think about it.

Much more pleasant and of immediate consideration was the sleeping woman snuggled against his warmth. Despite their playful intention to make love far into the evening, after the second session of passionate coupling, both had fallen asleep and dreamed soundly throughout the night.

Spock let his senses wander over his wife's voluptuous body, enjoying her naked skin pressed against his, her soft breath sighing through parted lips, dark lashes resting on rosy cheeks. Her hair, still long and sun-streaked, spread out over her shoulders, framing her aristocratic face. So often he had lain like this, watching the morning light begin to bathe her features in gold, warming her skin into honey. He could scarcely remember a time when he had been without her, when she had not been a part of his life. How alone he had been before ... how foolish to think that he wanted the ascetic life he had chosen for himself. She had brought him fully alive.

Even now, his loins began to stir as his body responded to her nearness. Letting his gaze drift down a little, he could make out her full breasts resting on the arm that lay across her stomach, heavy still though she had weaned T'Kai and no longer produced much milk. Her nipples remembered, though, and were turgid and waiting to be nursed.

Almost, he wanted to bend down and pull them into his mouth, suckling her as he'd done last night, licking and teasing until she cried out in ecstasy and climaxed underneath him. But he resisted the urge. He simply wanted to watch her now, though he found her breasts irresistibly arousing, as his growing erection attested. It rose in steady pulses with each heartbeat and prodded against her thigh, demanding attention. The sensation of the smooth, sensitive head rubbing against silken skin fueled the fire growing within him and added to his excitement.

That excitement seeped through their bondlink into her mind and she began to come awake. Lifting her arms over her head, she stretched luxuriously, her breasts rearing clear of the blankets and displaying themselves proudly to her husband's appreciative gaze.

Then she relaxed and turned her head to look at him, smiling drowsily. "Morning," she said.

"Good morning," he returned, one hand folded underneath his pillow, the other drawing a light trail down her bare arm.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Mmmm..." she murmured. "Better than in a long time. How about you?"

"Very well indeed," he answered. His exploring hand reached the globe of her breast and he casually reached out a finger to roll a taut nipple under his fingertip, eliciting a little shiver from her. "Do you need to attend the children?" meaning specifically the baby.

"Not yet," she replied. "It's still early and they're in good hands. Maddy and Jess have Jenn and the other two are with your folks." She chuckled indulgently. "I think your mother is 'eat up' with Kai-Kai, as my mother would have said, and Sapel has really taken up with his grandfather. Sarek is acting like a kid again himself."

Spock quirked up an eyebrow. "Considering it has been quite some time since my father was a 'kid' and I have never seen him behave as one, that should be interesting. However ... I have absolutely no interest in discussing our families at the moment." To prove his point, he rolled her nipple a little more firmly, then covered it with his palm and began to knead her breast gently.

Christine wriggled in approval, feeling the area between her legs tighten with familiar anticipation. She was still wet and slick from the aftermath of their activities earlier in the evening and could feel the slight stickiness from the semen that had seeped from her vagina. While the memory of his powerful body erupting its essence into her depths made her squirm with incipient exhilaration, she still felt the need to clean herself a bit. And there was something else, a different pressure that needed her attention.

She pushed at his shoulder and said, "Hold that thought for a few minutes, okay? First thing, I've gotta pee."

He gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled onto his back to wait. With a light laugh, Christine got out of bed and hurried into the bathroom, the door sliding closed behind her. Spock lay impatiently, staring at the barely visible ceiling, all too aware of the tented blanket rising prominently above the bed. After a short while, he heard the toilet flush and she came padding back to the alcove, vaulting in beside him and pulling the covers up.

"Now, where were we?" she asked. "Do you need a turn next?"

"I do not need to relieve myself," he answered. "Not that way, in any case."

She laughed again and snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder, encouraging him to pull her into his embrace, then letting her hand roam down his stomach until it encountered the firm column of his erection beneath the blanket. "Hmm, this feels like it needs relieving," she commented.

"Indeed," he answered, then fell silent to savor the feeling of her hand encircling the heated shaft and beginning to stroke.

Christine was enjoying it as well. Spock was nicely endowed as she'd known since the first time she'd been involved in a medical examination when she'd first been assigned to the _Enterprise_ , almost twenty years ago. But that was clinical and she was careful never to "see" him, keeping a professional attitude when it was necessary to glimpse his naked body. And she had never seen him erect until the first time they'd made love in the little cave on Terra Two. She had quickly grown to love his body as well as his spirit. He filled her as no other man had ever done, fitting her perfectly, as if they'd been destined for each other.

Now she gently but firmly pumped his rigid penis, careful not to grip him too roughly or scratch the sensitive glans, fascinated as always at the way the veins and ridges began to swell along the thick shaft. Already he was hard as granite, in full arousal, yet his skin was soft and dry to her touch, save for the moist, flaring head that was leaking its lubricating oil in readiness.

As she stroked him, Spock let his eyes close and his head sink back onto his pillow, lost in the welter of sensations washing over him. Feedback from Christine's mind flooded through the bond link, echoing and redoubling as their mutual arousal flowed back and forth between them.

He began to gasp softly as his body tightened to the point of ultimate explosion, all his muscles stiffening in preparation.

Christine had been closely watching his face, the display of emotions flickering across his features, and knew he couldn't hold off much longer. Now she moved abruptly, pushing herself up and swinging one leg over his straining hips, her fist still grasping his throbbing manhood. For a startled second, Spock opened fevered eyes to look at her, then she was settling astride him, holding him firmly in place as she guided him into position.

Both caught their breath as the hot column of flesh sank into her cool enfolding well, sending waves of indescribable pleasure cascading throughout both. Then he locked his gaze onto hers and she found she could not look away, caught by eyes black with desire and open to his soul. Her heart seized within her breast, nearly bringing tears spilling over as he unmasked the devotion and utter trust he had in her, the only person he would allow to see the vulnerability and sensitivity that dwelt within his being. He had looked at her that way once before, she realized, under the worst of circumstances — on Platonius when they were being forced to perform for their captors. His steady, solemn eyes had held her then, too, and had confided to her things that he would never have spoken aloud.

Spock saw and felt his mate's emotions threatening to overflow, and he gently reached up to touch her cheek, trailing his fingertips across her soft lips. Neither needed to speak, he knew, for their hearts and minds had long ago become one. And that love now manifested itself back into a physical joining that cried out for culmination.

Slowly, Christine began to move her hips forward and back, driving him deeper into her body, then pulling back. As she settled into a sensuous rhythm, once more his head fell back onto his pillow and his eyes fluttered shut, his expression elegant with sublime bliss, hands resting lightly on her thighs. For what seemed like a long time, they stayed in that pattern, she moving in measured cadence astride him, he lying motionless beneath her, lost to the building fires that were kindling inside him.

Sensing the growing conflagration, she picked up her pace and pressure, leaning over him, hands braced on his shoulders, riding him hard. At once his face contorted almost in pain, his teeth closing with a hiss behind parted lips. The surge of his arousal coursed into her heart and set her own blood aflame.

Once more, his eyes flew open but there was nothing gentle in the dark brown depths now. Bucking up strongly beneath her, he took control, holding her hard against him. It wasn't enough. He had to have more. Pulling her down to his chest, he swiftly rolled her underneath him, never breaking their intimate connection, and immediately began to pound into her with all his considerable might. She hung on for dear life, loving it, taking his battering thrusts with joy, knowing that his passion was for _her_! _She_ was the one who could make him like this!

He buried his face against her neck and gripped her hard, his hips humping into her now with short, intense strokes. He was practically sobbing, he was so close, and she hung on the same knife edge, chanting over and over in her mind, _Oh, yeah, baby! Oh, please! Come in me! Come in me!_

It was the undoing of his final shred of control. With a ponderous groan, he slammed into her and froze, his whole body shuddering as his orgasm tore loose and shot free. Time seemed to stop as he pumped into her again and again, then gradually the torrent waned and he was being cradled in her arms, gentle hands stroking wet hair away from a face once again guileless and reposed.

"It just gets better and better," she murmured, kissing his forehead. "I could lie here all day like this."

"You may have to do so," he answered breathlessly. "I am uncertain if I can walk!"

Christine threw back her head and laughed merrily. "That's _my_ line! Anyway, I've got to get up soon and take a shower. You, too, sweetie. All that wild sex has worked up a sweat on both of us!"

He sighed against her neck. "You are correct, as usual. I was always taught that Vulcans do not perspire, but you have brought me to that point many times."

"Just as long as you replenish those lost fluids," she pointed out. She lightly shoved against his shoulder. "Move off me now, darling. You're getting heavy."

"My apologies." He lifted himself clear of her, withdrawing from her delicious warmth, and settled back down beside her, arm across her stomach. After kissing her lightly, he turned serious and said, "Christine, there is something I want to tell you." She looked quizzical and waited. He hesitated for a moment, then continued, "Once we return home — to Earth, I mean — I want to marry you."

"What?" That one caught her completely off guard. "Spock, dearest, we _are_ married."

"I mean _really_ married. Legally married. The contract registered in the Federation Archives and sealed for life."

She didn't know what to say and felt her eyes welling up again. "You don't have to do that, you know. Anywhere in the Federation, our union would be recognized."

"I know," he insisted. "But I want it on the record books. The legal situation will be extremely ugly when we get back, and I want there to be absolutely no doubt that you are my chosen bondmate and that our children are my legal heirs. It's important that it be registered on Vulcan, too. Perhaps even moreso, considering my position in the Lineage and what the children stand to inherit from that. Besides ... \ I believe I owe you a wedding." He peered at her and smiled, his eyes now their usual warm, burnished mahogany in the soft glow of the room lights.

"Anything I want?" she queried, suddenly considering the possibilities.

"Within reason," he amended. "Any Terran ceremony you wish."

"Japanese, I think," she mused. "I want a gorgeous kimono and a wig with a long, long braid down my back—"

"All right."

"And I want to honeymoon on Risa," she continued. "I want to take Frank up on his offer to us. A cottage on a secluded beach—"

Spock was forced to stop her by planting a solid, no-nonsense kiss squarely on her mouth. It softened and finally broke reluctantly. "We shall have much time to plan. But now, as you say, we both need a shower and must start our day. It is nearly 0700 already. Remember that today will be our last trip down to the surface, to the Valley, then the ship will be leaving for Earth. We have much to do before we break orbit tonight and I am not certain how the children will react once they realize we are leaving for good."

Christine felt her happy mood plummet as the reality of it all came home to her as well. "I'm not sure how _I'll_ react myself," she confessed. "I still can't believe it!" Abruptly she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him back down into a tight embrace. "Oh, Spock, just hold me for a little while longer! Suddenly ... I'm afraid."

* * *

It was the end, Christine realized, as she stood surveying the little valley for the final time. The end of a nightmare, the end of the struggle just to find enough food to eat, the end of constant vigilance for predators that might kill herself and her children, the end of constant worry and trying to outguess the coming season, the end of loneliness and despair and seemingly useless hope.

As she looked out over the tiny valley, memories came back to her of the past twelve years. There on the bluff, where the two shuttlecraft were now parked, she had stood alone one late summer evening, pregnant with her first child, and realized that on this entire world, there was only one other person. She had given in to the tidal wave of panic and dissolved into pure, unreasoning terror, the vast emptiness of the planet overwhelming her. That same evening in that same spot, as Spock had held and comforted her, she had seen the beginnings of a vast prairie fire sweeping toward them, thundering herds of stampeding beasts racing before it. The fire had wiped out nearly all they had gathered and made, forcing them to start over without the luxury of time before autumn and then winter began.

Turning, Christine looked toward the creek, now trickling tranquilly on its way to the river downstream and remembered a time when it was swollen and raging, when Sapel had fallen into it and been swept away. He would have drowned had Spock not dived in and rescued him. That had been the year T'Larin had been born and almost immediately killed by the marauding werewolf, the huge predator that haunted the woods of the east. Spock had killed it, but too late to save their newborn baby. That catastrophe had driven him insane with grief, and he had left her and Sapel to journey toward the mountains in the west in order to pull his shattered psyche back together.

It had been the worst of times for Christine. Still recovering from the horrific loss of her child, she had been forced to fend for herself and Sapel in Spock's absence. She had hated him then, hated him with all her heart and soul and being, blaming him for all the misfortunes that had befallen her since that day on the space station when they had been kidnapped by the Romulans. That had been his fault, too. It dated back to the incident with the female Romulan commander and the stolen cloaking device. All of the ensuing history had stemmed from the revenge sought by the commander's first officer, who had loved her and sworn vendetta on the Vulcan who had caused her ultimate death and dishonor.

And the thought of Spock — her husband — making love to that venomous Romulan whore made Christine's blood boil. He knew that Christine was the one who loved him. He knew that he was betraying her as he went to that woman's quarters and seduced her—

Christine shook her head. No, that was absolute nonsense. Spock had been carrying out his duty on that mission. He had been under orders on everything he had done. And, anyway, when all that happened, there was nothing between them. Not really. Yes, he knew how Christine felt about him and had seemed to be on the verge of reciprocating those feelings, but nothing, absolutely nothing, had been expressed toward her that was not completely proper and in keeping with their positions in the hierarchy of the ship. Anything else had been wishful thinking on her part.

Until Platonius. That was the first time he'd ever truly opened himself to her, even for an instant, and let her see how he felt. But it wouldn't have gone any further had the _Enterprise_ not put into Deep Space 4 for resupply several months later. Had she not gone over to do some shopping and had Spock not volunteered to help carry some of her packages back to the ship. It could all have turned out so differently, she mused. If Uhura had been off-duty, she would have gone with Christine and it would have been a routine shore leave. If Spock had not had to beam over to the station to settle a dispute between the ship's quartermaster and a Ferengi merchant, he would not have been there to be kidnapped by the Romulan Tal, who had been hunting for him. If Christine hadn't found that sale at the little Rigellian boutique, she wouldn't have had more than she could carry and would have beamed home alone.

If... If...

 _Enough!_ Christine commanded herself. That was all water under the bridge. It had happened and her life had been completely changed by it. They had been abducted by the Romulans and left to die here on Terra Two ... on Avalon, she amended. She and Spock _had_ discovered how much they truly loved one another and the past twelve years had held an incredible amount of happiness as well as grief.

She looked toward the little waterfall and its catchpond, glimmering in the afternoon light. How often had they swum there beneath the triple moons and made love in those waters? How often had they brought their children there to cool off on hot summer days? How often had they lain on the banks at night and looked up at the stars, wondering where they were and if they would ever be found, pondering whether that star was Aldebaran or that star was Vega?

Christine turned the other way and looked up at the opening of the little cave they had called home and the little sod house they'd added beside it. That snug cave had sheltered them for many years, keeping them warm and dry in the cold and rainy seasons, cooling them in its shade during the hot months. It was the place where she and Spock had first become husband and wife, where he had undergone that first _pon farr_ with her that had resulted in Sapel's conception. Their son had been born there, as had two other children, both of them lost. The cave had been the place they had always returned to in their wanderings and Christine suddenly realized that she would miss its security and snug embrace.

All their meager belongs had been removed — the bowls and utensils they had laboriously made, the tanned furs they'd left in storage, the skins that Christine had turned into reading sheets for Sapel, the berry ink now faded into illegibility... their home had been left much as they'd found it — a barren hole in the valley wall, ready for its next tenants, whether that might be rodents or foxes or a colony of bats. But it would never be theirs again.

Christine found that tears were trickling down her cheeks and she hastily reached up to wipe them away. She should be happy that they were finally leaving this place for home. Their real home. Earth. Or Vulcan. Or anywhere but here.

She just couldn't get that hollowness out of her chest, however. It was the end of a chapter in her life and she found herself reluctant to let it go. Despite all the hardships they'd suffered here, this place had become a very real home to her, too. Deep down in her heart of hearts, she didn't want to leave it.

As she wiped another tear away, Spock came up softly behind her and saw her distress. " _T'hy'la?_ " he questioned quietly. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes," she answered, straightening herself. "I'm just being silly and emotional. Don't worry about me."

"It is almost time to go," he said. "They have the shuttles loaded. Take a last look and see if there is anything you have forgotten."

"No," Christine responded with a sigh. "There's just the last thing to do. Let's get that over with and then I'll be ready."

Spock nodded and the two of them turned and walked together along the creek bank and toward a vast, willow-like tree further down the valley floor.

* * *

The rest of the group was waiting for them, standing at silent, solemn attention, hands clasped before them or behind them or stiff at their sides. Anything to hide the inherent discomfort at such an event. Only Amanda was seated, balancing T'Kai on her lap. The elderly woman was no longer able to stand for long periods of time and employed a hover chair much of the time now.

Christine's eyes darted from face to face as she realized that there were many more people here than had come down on the shuttles. Besides Sarek and Amanda, Sapel, T'Jenn and T'Kai, Commodore Kirk and the three Starfleet scientists and investigators, there were also Commander Uhura, Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott, all in dress uniforms, her sisters Madalyn and Jessalyn Chapel, a number of people from the Life Sciences departments and medical staff, and finally, surprisingly, the ship's chaplain and counselor, Dr. Salvatore Chavez. He was waiting in full vestments, prayer book in hand, and Christine's eyes suddenly filled and overflowed. She'd met him after they'd been rescued when he'd offered his counseling services, and she remembered now that he'd mentioned being an ordained priest as well as a psychologist.

Seeing her sister's emotional fragility, Madalyn quickly stepped forward and took Christine's hand. "We asked him to come," she said, indicating Jessalyn who nodded in agreement. "We thought it would help bring you closure."

Christine nodded and smiled shakily, then looked up at Spock, who was standing silently beside her. "It's all right?" she queried. "You don't mind?"

"Whatever will bring you comfort," he assured her gently.

Father Chavez stepped toward her and asked quietly, "What sort of service would you like?"

"Something simple," Christine answered.

"Christian? Jewish? Something else?"

"Christian ... though I'm not really religious. But..." She hesitated. "But ... they were never baptized, you know."

"I understand. I minister to all faiths and needs. I think I have a service you will like." With that, the priest took his place beside the two tiny cairns of stones that rested beneath the spreading tree. "My friends, let us begin," he said in a hushed voice and opened the book.

The others gathered around and stood silently as Chavez read the prayers for the dead. Christine scarcely heard the words, though she was vaguely aware that Spock had taken her hand in his own, radiating comfort to her through their bond. Instead, she was reliving the circumstances of her babies' births and deaths. She had miscarried Soran after being attacked by a plains bison, the incredibly tiny body she delivered scarcely recognizable as a baby. Yet to Christine, he had been her child, as much as if he'd been full term. T'Larin _had_ been full term, a beautiful infant who was horribly killed just moments after her birth.

Squeezing her eyes shut and shuddering, Christine could still hear the screams, smell the rank fur of the wolf and the metallic tang of the blood, could still feel the mind-numbing horror of that terrible day. Tears began to trickle down her face and she brought her free hand up to cover her mouth, fearing a complete loss of control if the sobs clutching at her throat should break free into the anguished wails building inside her.

Madalyn's arm slid around her shoulders in support, but Christine paid little attention, the choking sobs coming harder and faster. Spock was trembling himself, catching the backlash of his wife's agony and working hard to master his own collapsing emotions. T'Larin's death had ripped him apart and now he felt the fabric of his being start to shred. For Christine's sake, he clamped his teeth together and savagely pulled himself back under command.

Father Chavez took note of Christine's crumbling control and brought the service to a quiet end. "Our Blessed Lord," he intoned. "Receive the souls of these little ones into Your keeping and bring to Spock and Christine the comfort that only You can impart in these times of sorrow." He made the sign of the cross over the graves. " _In nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritu Sancti_. Amen."

"Ten-shun!" ordered Uhura crisply and the Starfleet personnel all came to attention as Scotty activated a small device he'd held in his hand. The strains of "Amazing Grace" filled the air, not the strident wail of the pipes, but a softer, more soaring rendition that befitted the service.

It was too much for Christine. The notes of the familiar hymn brought the truth crashing home to her that she was leaving here and her tiny babies were staying behind. The mental specter of the lonely little graves, abandoned, lying forgotten with no one to watch over them, was more than the grieving mother could endure.

"Oh, my babies!" she cried in utter despair and collapsed on top of the cairns, her sorrow at long last pouring out in a torrent. All the anguish and pain she'd kept penned inside for all the endless years erupted now as if a dam had burst.

She felt Spock kneel on one side of her and Maddy on the other, but she couldn't tear herself away as they attempted to lift her up. She clutched frantically at the grass and stones covering her children's final resting places, willing herself to die here, to sink into the earth that, rationally, she knew had long since claimed the diminutive bodies.

She heard McCoy say something and then felt an icy hiss against her shoulder. Instantly, her mind seemed to fog and all her muscles became sluggish and unresponsive. Blackness flickered at the periphery of her vision and she felt as if the breath had been sucked out of her lungs. She felt as if she were floating weightless in space, her mouth gaping as she fought for air, but there was only vacuum and darkness around her.

And then, unexpectedly, air as sweet and clean as a spring morning flooded into her starving lungs, filling her with the promise of new life and bursting blossoms. Fireflies and stars swirled before her vision and she heard the distant laughter of children, far away, running in fields of dew-kissed clover and nectar-drenched buds.

Peace such as she had never known suffused her very being and she began to chuckle, too, knowing that everything was all right now. At first it seemed as if she were whirling around in delightful madness, surrounded by the childish laughter ... then her senses began to clear somewhat and she found herself cradled in Spock's arms, lying in the fragrant grass beneath the tree, with Kirk and McCoy hunkered down beside her. Vaguely, she was aware that the others had drawn back, giving them room.

"She's coming around now," she heard McCoy's gruff voice say. "Let her come out of it slowly."

She blinked and looked at McCoy and Kirk, then let her gaze come to rest on her husband's face. Strangely, he seemed the least concerned of them all, his eyes depthless and dark and a little smile touching his lips.

"You felt it, didn't you?" she whispered to him.

He nodded. "Yes. Everything is all right now. They won't be left behind," he murmured back, his words only for her.

"Christine, how do you feel?" McCoy asked, leaning over his patient. "Dizzy? Can you focus?"

"I'm okay now, Len," she insisted and started to sit up.

"Whoops — no, you don't, missy! Not with an armful of that stuff in ya. Spock, you carry her and we'll beam her back up. That shuttle ride's too long for her right now." The doctor got to his feet. "Jim, I think there's been enough excitement for one day. For once, I'm advocating taking the transporter rather than a shuttle. Let's get her to sickbay."

"Leonard, I'm all right!" Christine insisted, but Spock slid his arms around her back and underneath her knees and stood effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing.

"This time, I am in agreement with the good doctor," he told her firmly. "Children, Mother ... I believe it is time to leave here."

"Mama be all right?" T'Jenn questioned hesitantly, still frightened by her mother's collapse.

"Mama will be fine," Spock assured her and let his gaze rest on his wife's clear blue eyes. "We'll all be just fine."

The family and those who had beamed down from the ship gathered at the transport point and waited to feel the tingle of the energy beam surround them. Spock and Christine took a final look around at their valley home and then all they saw was the golden shimmer of transport.

* * *

"Time, Mr. Novacek?" Kirk asked casually from the command chair, one leg slung comfortably over the other. He was signing a data pad handed to him by his yeoman.

"Nineteen oh-forty, sir," the navigator answered.

"Ship's status, Miss Uhura?"

"All sections report ready, sir," First Officer Uhura related from her station.

"Very good." Kirk handed the data pad back to the yeoman and turned his eyes onto the main screen. "Prepare to get underway, Mr. Singh."

"Aye, Captain," the helmsman responded. "Awaiting your order, sir."

"Take us out of orbit, Mr. Singh. Heading 3534 mark 12."

"Aye, sir." The helmsman's large brown hands moved assuredly over the console as the navigator beside him adjusted the heading coordinates. The deck beneath them vibrated slightly as the thrusters kicked in, then the impulse engines moved them smoothly out of the planet's gravity field.

Kirk swung his chair slightly to the right and glanced up at the group of people standing beside him. Spock was holding T'Kai while Christine had T'Jenn in her arms. Sapel stood in front of them, his eyes glued on the big screen, watching the image of the blue-green planet pull away. "Take a long last look, folks," the commodore commented softly. "You're out of there at last."

"Mama?" said T'Jenn in a puzzled tone. "I wanna go home."

"We _are_ going home, honey," Christine answered.

"Valley, Mama," the child insisted. "Wanna go to th' Valley. Wanna go home."

Christine managed to keep her chin from quivering. "That's not our home, honeybun." She hugged the child and looked back at the viewscreen.

Their eyes glued to the screen, neither she nor Spock noticed Sapel's fists clench in helpless frustration. His deep brown eyes bright with tears, the teenager whispered almost to himself, "It's _mine_ ," and watched Terra Two dwindle and disappear into the background of bright, unblinking stars.

 

END OF PART ELEVEN, BUT WAIT! THERE'S ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO!

PART TWELVE – "ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS" – FOLLOWS

 


	12. Epilogue -- Endings and Beginnings

**Stardate 8040.3**

The evening breeze off the desert hills ruffled Spock's hair as he stood on the terrace and sipped hot _saya_ tea from the handmade stone cup. It was a curious object in so rich a household, half of a rounded river rock, a deep hollow carefully chipped into its center to form the bowl of the cup, the rim ground down and smooth, the bottom planed flat so that it would not tip over. Because it had no handle, Spock held it cradled in the palm of his hand, where it fit with remarkable ease and where it had rested countless times since its creation.

It was not for daily use, but now and then Spock retrieved it from its place in the book cabinet when the mood was upon him or his inner calendar told him that there was an anniversary to commemorate. This evening was such a time. By standard reckoning, this day marked seventeen Standard years since he and Christine were left to die on the uninhabited planet now called Avalon. Only they hadn't died. They'd faced every challenge and survived. It was Tal, their Romulan adversary, who had ultimately met his doom there, at the hands of the lemuroid natives called Teeli.

Seventeen Standard years, over fourteen by Avalon reckoning, due to the 15 month year there. It had been a busy two years since their return to civilization. The media storm that had erupted upon the announcement of their rescue had yet to die down. Every news organization in the Alpha Quadrant had descended on Earth with holocams, reporters and tech crews. There had been Human, Vulcan, Andorian, Klingon, Risan, Rigellian, Tellurite, Xindi (three of the five races), Free Spacer, and some that no one had ever heard of before, all of them clamoring for an exclusive interview or story or scandal. Not even the fact that the family had been sequestered by both Starfleet and the Vulcan Embassy had prevented freelance holopoppers from stalking them and snapping candid shots with long distance lenses.

The family had appeared at press conferences, on talk shows, on the covers of every magazine from _Federation News Week_ to _The Ferengi Business Journal_ , and as the lead story of several thousand news webs. Sapel had become the darling of the teen holomags and was the heartthrob of billions of adolescent females throughout the Federation. The family had been courted by every sort of entrepreneur imaginable. Through their spokesmen, they had refused commercial endorsements on sixteen different planets, book deals, holovid deals, their own weekly broadcast show (take your pick — talk, adventure or sitcom), lecture circuit deals, carnival oddity deals (Space Family Robinson in the Flesh!), and even an offer to purchase T'Jenn and T'Kai for the harem of an Orion thorium merchant so wealthy that he personally owned an entire solar system!

That was the point where Spock and Christine decided that they must get away from Earth as soon as was possible. It was simply too dangerous and uncontrolled here. The logical place to relocate was Vulcan, for the stern and humorless Vulcans tolerated no such nonsense from outworlders. They were selective about whom they allowed on their planet and prosecuted any violators to the fullest extent that their strict laws allowed.

Spock sent the children with Sarek and Amanda, trusting that they would be protected by the power of the Vulcan Embassy and their grandparents' personal shelter. But it had been a while before he and Christine could leave Earth. First, they were obliged to undergo their Starfleet Judiciary Board hearing on whether they had violated General Order No. 1 in contacting and thereby contaminating the purity of the native population of Avalon.

* * *

The Starfleet hearing turned out to be something other than Spock had been expecting. In his long career, he had appeared both as a witness and a defendant in a number of courts-martial and hearings, but he had never participated in any like this one.

To begin with, both he and Christine had been subjected to intensive debriefing by the Starfleet investigators aboard the _Enterprise_ on the way back to Earth, recounting in as much detail as they could (leaving out personal things) the events leading up to their kidnapping by Romulan agents, their abandonment on Avalon, and the twelve years they spent there. Of particular interest to the investigators was the discovery and interaction with the native lemuroids. The war with the Teeli and Spock's slaying of their shaman leader was dealt with in microscopic detail. All of their testimony was recorded and sealed into the record.

Kirk had sat in on the debriefings, making it his top priority as Spock and Christine's commanding officer, and he became more alarmed as the questioning went on. They were getting into dicey legal grounds and the old term "railroaded" began to appear in his mind over what lay in store for his two friends.

Taking matters into his own hands, he privately contacted some old acquaintances and made some inquiries. When the _Enterprise_ pulled into Space Dock, among the hordes of reporters and curiosity seekers awaiting them was a tall, grizzled black man, a confident smile on his face and a twinkle in his dark chocolate eyes.

He stuck out his hand in greeting. "Thomas Jefferson Okanga at your service," he announced to the stunned pair. "I'm your attorney. Don't say another word to these clowns. From now on, I'll do all the talking."

"Attorney?" repeated Spock, dumbfounded.

"Attorney?" echoed Christine, and both turned to look at Kirk.

"Thought you might need a bit of professional counsel in this matter," the commodore answered with a bit of disingenuousness. "Tom here is one of the best. A former partner of the late Samuel T. Cogley. Direct descendent of Thomas Jefferson too, right, Tom?"

"Through Sally Hemmings, his slave and mistress," Okanga grinned, showing a great swath of white teeth. "I've studied his writings all my life. Ever read the entire American Declaration of Independence? Eloquent document. But be that as it may ... Jim here suggested that you two need a good lawyer to handle the mess you're in. Glad to be aboard."

And so it was that, when the hearing formally opened three months later, Spock and Christine sat quietly in the court room and watched Tom Okanga come out with all phasers blasting.

To begin with, he stated in his opening remarks, Starfleet had violated Federation civil law by interrogating his clients without benefit of legal counsel. That interrogation had already been entered into the record of this hearing by the prosecution but, under the circumstances in which it was acquired, it was invalid and Okanga demanded it be stricken as inadmissible evidence.

Second, Starfleet had no actual jurisdiction over his clients as they had been declared legally dead on Stardate 6960.1. Deceased persons were not subject to Starfleet regulations. The fact that they had been found alive seven and a half years later was of no consequence. Legally, his clients were dead. Period.

Third, regarding the charge of violation of General Order No. 1 while they were alive and subject to Starfleet regulations, the alleged offense took place outside of Federation territorial limits on a planet not subject to Federation laws. Indeed, the subject planet was under Romulan jurisdiction at the time.

Next, the alleged violation, i.e., contact with a non-warp-capable species and interference in their civilization, took place on approximately Stardate 6990.5, three months after his clients had been declared dead. See point number two regarding deceased persons.

Finally, his clients were Federation citizens in distress, to wit, having been abducted and abandoned by enemy military forces and were undertaking every reasonable and necessary action to insure their survival. Under such circumstances, any reasonable and prudent person would do the same. _See_ _Martian Colony 2 v. Abercrombie_ ; _City of Azub Prime v. United Miners Association_ ; et al. All case law cited in documentation already filed with the Judge Advocate General's office in the pleadings of this case.

In conclusion, Okanga stated, to sum up his arguments, his clients, Spock cha'Sarek of Vulcan and Christine Marie Chapel of Earth, were dead. Thus, they were no longer either members of Starfleet or citizens of the United Federation of Planets, ergo no longer subject to the rules or laws of either entity, unless it could be proven by the prosecution that the benefits and responsibilities of these entities continued after death. Therefore, all charges against his clients were invalid and these proceedings were moot.

An oral Motion to Dismiss was hereby presented for ruling by the Board. Thank you, gentlemen. And Okanga sat down with a confident little smile next to Spock and Christine.

The Starfleet prosecuting attorney had argued persuasively that the two defendants were obviously very much alive and sitting right there! But Okanga countered by presenting their death certificates, as recorded in Federation records on Stardate 6968.4. He also presented documents showing that Spock's estate was still in probate, tangled by interplanetary red tape and thus unsettled as yet.

In the end, the Hearing Board had recessed indefinitely until all legal precedents and case law could be studied. The defendants were released, subject to recall at a later date.

As the hearing attendees rose and began to make their way from the court room, Okanga chuckled deeply as he gathered his papers together. "Well, that takes care of that."

"I do not understand, sir," Spock answered. "There was no ruling, only a postponement."

"Son, how long do you think it will take to research every bit of case law here and by how many lawyers? There isn't enough money in the Starfleet coffers to pursue this case or enough attorneys at their disposal to do it. It would cost them the equivalent of an entire starship! Do you really think they'll let it go that far? No, the Board'll make a ruling in a couple of months to dismiss this nonsense and you can get on with your lives."

Commodore Kirk laughed out loud. "Are all lawyers crooked, Tom?"

"Only the good ones," Okanga replied with a wide grin and rose. "Now ... while we're waiting for the JAG officers to pronounce this hearing moot because you're dead, I'll start work on the process to declare you alive."

"Forgive me," Spock said, puzzled. "But won't that negate the Board ruling?"

"Not at all, because we won't file any papers until the Board rules. You're already legally dead, which means you're both non-entities. Until you're declared alive again, we can't begin to get your estates straightened out or get all the back pay Starfleet owes you. That'll be easy, but the estate work will be the real job!" The grizzled-haired lawyer rubbed his hands together in a mercenary fashion. "I'm going to retire after this case is all done!" He grinned again. "Spock, I hope you have deep pockets!"

* * *

On the viewscreen, T'Jenn's little face was the picture of misery. "Mama, when can we go home?" she pleaded. "I don't like it here!"

Christine sighed, feeling helpless. "But don't you like staying with Granny and Sa'mehk?" she asked.

"No! It's hot 'n' I don't like the food 'n' ever'body's mean," the child sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "They don't smile 'n' won't let us play or nothing. I wanna go home!"

Her mother sighed heavily again. "We can't go home right now, baby," Christine said, attempting to placate her daughter. "Papa and I have to stay on Earth for a little while longer."

T'Jenn really began weeping then, hard and heavy. "Want _you_ , Mama! Want Papa!"

Christine felt her heart break and tears come to her own eyes. Around the lump in her throat, she answered with sudden resolve, "All right, baby. I want you, too! I'm coming to get you. It will take me a few days to get there, but Mama is coming to get you and Kai-Kai and Sapel."

"Papa, too?" Jenny asked hopefully.

"I don't know, honey," Christine responded truthfully. "But I'm coming for you! I promise!" On the screen, Jenny sniffed and seemed more reassured. "Now, let me speak with Granny."

"'Kay. Bye, Mama."

"Bye, baby girl," Christine smiled. "I love you, sweetie."

"Love _you_ , Mama!"

The child moved away from the camera and in a moment, Amanda appeared and seated herself. She looked haggard and unwell. Christine was immediately concerned.

"Amanda? Are you all right?" she questioned.

The older woman sighed. "I'm just tired, dear."

"What's going on with the kids?"

Amanda took a moment to peer appraisingly into her daughter-in-law's face, then answered, "I'm sorry, Christine, but I'm afraid I'm a bit too old to take on caring for three such ... spirited youngsters. They are having trouble adjusting to Vulcan society. And they miss you and Spock terribly."

For a second, Christine read "undisciplined" for "spirited" and felt a quick surge of annoyance, but then she fought that emotion down. Compared to any Vulcan child, her three _were_ undisciplined. Moreover, they had never known anything but the freedom of Avalon and had never been separated from their parents before. No wonder they were miserable!

Christine composed herself and stared steadily at the screen. "I'm coming to get them, Amanda. I'll be there as soon as I can figure out a way to get off planet."

Spock's mother looked both relieved and thoughtful. "But how are you going to book passage, dear? You have no money, do you?"

Christine let the corner of her mouth twitch wryly. "I'd have to sign on as a crewmember, I'm afraid," she said. "You're right. I don't have a credit to my name."

"Yes, Spock told me that your lawyer had found that your estate had already been settled and disbursed to your family members not long after you were declared dead."

"And they donated a sizeable chunk of it to charity in my memory," Christine responded. "No chance of recovering it. The rest was spent by the family. I'm flat as a pancake until I can get my back pay from Starfleet."

Amanda pondered a moment. "The Vulcan attaché's shuttle in is port on Earth," she said. "I'll have Sarek send the Embassy instructions to give you and Spock passage. Can you make it to Vulcan territory there?"

Christine glanced around the quarters they'd been using at Starfleet headquarters and her expression hardened. "We'll get to the Embassy somehow. If I have to point my ears and learn to speak Golic, we'll get there!"

* * *

"Are you certain this is an advisable course of action?" questioned Spock as he watched Christine pack.

"Advisable or not, I'm going," she answered, stuffing a tube of extra-strength sunscreen into her carryall. She'd need it once she got to Vulcan.

"Leaving might prejudice the Board's ruling on our case," he pointed out.

"Then the case and the Board be damned," she responded tightly. "I'm going to get my kids and no one's going to stop me!" With a flourish, she sealed the bag and stood back, peering defiantly up at her husband. During the three months they'd been back on Earth, he had slipped easily back into his old persona … or so it seemed to most people. Christine could see through the facade to the man that resided beneath the calm and emotion-free expression. He had cut his long hair to the common short style that most Vulcans wore, a bit longer and much softer than the sleek cap from the old days, and he now dressed in comfortable civilian attire, but to all outward appearances he was still the starship officer he'd been. Christine knew better. He had changed irrevocably during their long sojourn on Avalon and she often caught him staring into the distance with a slightly wistful air. She didn't have to stretch her imagination very far to know where his mind was wandering.

Her own features softened. "I need to get away from here, Spock," she stated gently. "I feel like I'm in a can! I didn't realize how much I'd gotten used to the wide open spaces until we came back here. I can't breathe half the time and I feel like I'm being crushed by people! You remember that planet the ship visited once? Um … Gideon … with the overwhelming population burden? That's how I feel here! Even if I didn't have the kids as an excuse to leave, I'd do it anyway." She paused and peered at him appraisingly . "So, are you coming with me or staying here?"

"Coming with you, of course," he answered easily, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. "I have felt much the same way myself. And I too miss the children. Perhaps we can make a journey into the deserts once we reach Vulcan."

"I have a better idea," Christine answered. He quirked an eyebrow interrogatively. "Let's go to Risa," she said. "Let's take Frank up on his offer. I'd rather be lying on a beach than roasting in the desert and I think the kids would, too."

"I have a better idea than that," Spock responded, his dark brown eyes twinkling. "Let's go to Risa and get married on the beach." At her delighted and slightly flabbergasted expression, he added, "After all, I _did_ promise you a wedding."

* * *

"I pledged my life to you once before," Spock said softly, "and gave you this ring as a token of that pledge. I do so again, before our friends and children, that they may know you are my _t'hy'la_ and my _aduna_ until such time as death separates us."

So saying, he slipped the green-stoned Romulan ring onto Christine's left hand and covered it with his own.

Christine's eyes were sparkling in the final rays of the Risan sunset. Waves coming in from the tropical sea licked up onto the cream-colored beach with a gentle hiss before pulling back again and the evening breeze off the ocean ruffled Spock's midnight robes and the white silk kimono that his bride wore, the fabric embroidered with cherry blossoms and golden filigree. She was breathtakingly beautiful in the rosy evening light, her long dark hair pulled back into a waist-length braid and woven through with fragrant white flowers.

Around them were gathered a small, select group of people. Jim Kirk stood as Spock's best man and Nyota Uhura attended Christine. Leonard McCoy filled in as father of the bride, unable to stifle the wide grin on his face. With him were Sapel, T'Jenn and T'Kai, along with their hosts, Captain Frank Hendrikson (home on leave), his wife Verise, and their daughters, Lelani and Maia. Sapel had been visibly startled when introduced to Maia, for she was literally the girl out of his dreams. But now he had eyes only for his parents.

Christine was peering up into her husband's face with undisguised adoration. "Spock, I gave you my heart long ago and far away, when we first met. I never expected that you would give me yours in return. And though I knew you were brave and strong, I never understood the meaning of those words until we were marooned on Avalon. I learned there, too, the size of the Vulcan heart and I have not regretted a single day since I pledged myself to you there on that planet. I renew that pledge today, my _adun_ , and vow to be at your side from this day until we are parted by death."

"You are my wife," Spock affirmed.

"You are my husband," Christine smiled back.

And with that, he bent and kissed her, sealing their bond and union before the gathered company. As if to emphasize the occasion, the sun burst free of the bank of clouds hanging low on the horizon, blazing with coppery rays that illuminated the couple and gilded them with spectacular light.

The wedding party erupted into cheers and applause and rushed forward to congratulate them. There was much kissing and hugging, then the group moved up the beach where a feast was set out and torches blazed in the gathering night. It was a regular luau and they were joined by musicians and dancers, Frank served as bartender, and Verise began to dish out succulent foods that she and the girls had prepared especially for the party.

The merriment went long into the evening, the children having the time of their lives, never having known such an occasion. The teenagers kept an eye on the little girls while the grownups ate, drank and visited.

It wasn't until nearly midnight, after the smaller children had fallen asleep on blankets spread on the soft sand, and the adults were beginning to feel the drowsy contentment of full stomachs and the company of good friends, and after Sapel, Maia and Lelani had moved down to the waterline to talk among themselves, that Spock and Christine exchanged glances and knew it was time to leave.

Down the beach, about a half-mile from the Hendrikson house, was a secluded beach cabin, reserved for just such occasions as this. Frank and Verise had already prepared it for the honeymooning couple and smiled knowingly as the two rose silently and slipped away into the night, walking away hand-in-hand into the star-flecked darkness.

* * *

The walk on the beach was magical. The ocean sparkled in the light of the two fairy moons, the air was filled with the scent of night-blooming flowers, and sand beneath their feet was soft and warm. To their left the surf called invitingly and to their right the palm forest swayed gently in the faint breeze, whispering in the dark. Spock and Christine had paused several times to kiss and caress one another, their passion growing deeper the nearer they got to their destination.

Finally the little cabin appeared, nestled amid the palms at the top of the beach. Within, soft golden light glowed and champagne chilled at the side of the waiting bed, but before the couple reached the doorway, Christine grinned and said, "Let's go for a swim."

"Now?" questioned Spock, surprised. Still, a surge of excitement shot through him.

"Yes. I want to swim." With that, her eyes locked mischievously onto Spock's, Christine began to undo the ornate sash of her kimono.

"Let me," Spock growled in a hoarse whisper. His long fingers went to the knot in the sash and untied it quickly, allowing it to fall away. The white silk robe fell open, revealing the diaphanous wrap beneath and, below that, only the deep blush of her skin. He pushed the kimono and underwrap off her shoulders, allowing the fabric to slide across her standing nipples, teasing them into greater alertness, then her clothing fell away and puddled on the sand.

The sudden lack of raiment made her shiver and she crossed her arms over her breasts and hugged herself. "Here. This is warmer," Spock said and opened his own robe. Underneath, he was naked as well and she moved against him, slipping her arms around his body and nestling against his chest, nuzzling into the hair and inhaling his scent. Against her abdomen, his erection rose up between them, an extra heat pressing into her body.

"Mmmmm," she murmured. "You're the sexiest dead man I know."

"I am very much alive," he answered, his deep voice vibrating against her cheek.

"I can tell!" She slipped one hand down between them to grasp him, fondling the stiff shaft of his manhood.

"Are you sure you want to swim?" he questioned throatily.

"Yes!" And, laughing, she pushed away from him and sprinted down the beach to the water.

He shucked his robe and ran after her, joyous and excited as only she could make him. She splashed into the water, Spock right behind her, the tropical sea refreshing and relaxing at the same time. On another world, Avalon especially, they would never have gone into the ocean at night, but Risa's waters were safe. A magnetic fence out at the breakers kept all harmful organisms away from the beach, allowing only the waves and sea birds to pass.

Spock caught his wife and pulled her luscious body against his, bringing his lips down to capture hers, and she returned the kiss with interest, her tongue playing against his. For a moment, she wrapped her legs around his hips and rubbed against him, but as soon as he moved to put her into position, she pushed away again and struck out with a strong stroke toward the barrier fence. He had no option but to follow, and for a while, they enjoyed the feel of the water sliding across their bare skin and the sight of each other's muscles gleaming in the light on the moons.

As they neared the shore on their return lap, Christine paused for breath and Spock seized her yet again, this time from behind. "You will not escape me, wife!" he threatened, pushing his hardness between the soft cheeks of her buttocks and clutching her full, smooth breasts in his hands. "I intend to fulfill our wedding mating, whether you wish it or not!"

She giggled in delight, fully aware of the exultant humor of the statement, and pleaded, "No! No! I've never done this before! Please! I'm a virgin!"

"Indeed?" he shot back. "Then how can you have three children? Answer me that!"

"I'm also an awful liar!" she laughed and wriggled loose.

Feeling the ground beneath her feet, she broke free and raced up on to the beach, flinging herself down onto the sand, rolling onto her back. Her body was frosted with starlight and crystalline sand grains, sparkling and ethereal as she stretched herself out for him at last, breathing hard.

Spock came up slowly out of the water and stood over her, dripping, the moonlight glistening off the curves and angles of his taut, chiseled body. Naked, his erection thrusting before him, he appeared to her as primal man, no veneer of civilization cloaking his magnificent form. And he was done with their impetuous foreplay as well. The chase had aroused him completely and now the coolness of the air on his body kindled within him a flame that would soon rage through them both.

Christine lay looking up at him, her breathing heavy but only partially from the swim. She was ready now, too, her teasing done, and the exhilaration of their bonding sang back and forth between them, intensifying as it went. He sank down onto his knees beside her and bent over her to claim her lips in a bruising kiss. As he moved into position above her, her arms went around his neck and she opened her thighs to receive him, compelling him through their bond to hurry, for she desired no further delay.

He needed no additional urging, but with a strong thrust, mounted her there on the beach, the waves washing up gently to their hips. The setting was so primeval, so pure, that he could not hold himself back any longer. With a rending cry, he worked frantically against her and came almost immediately, lifting her up beneath him, but it was only a prelude. Catching his breath, Spock began to move within her again, his initial fire abated only a little, and allowed the momentarily dimmed flame to burst free once more.

* * *

"Looks like the party's over," said Lelani Hendrikson. Sapel and Maia looked back toward the house and saw that the dancers and musicians had gone and that clean-up of the food had begun by the resort staff. Verise and Uhura had picked up the sleeping children and were on their way to put them to bed. Kirk and McCoy were with them while Frank Hendrikson supervised the clean-up by kitchen staff.

"Guess I'll go help Dad," Lelani commented and rose to her feet. "You two coming?"

Maia cast a speculative glance at the young man sitting on the sand next to her, then answered, "We'll stay a while longer."

"Not too long," her older sister warned archly, then left them alone.

Sapel looked around and asked, "Where did my parents go? Back to the house?"

Maia giggled. "Course not, silly. They went up to the honeymoon cottage."

"What's 'honeymoon'?"

"Oh, come on, you know," the girl answered. "Where new married couples go to be alone and ... you know ... go to bed!"

"Oh, is that all?" Sapel shrugged and looked back out to the star-spangled sea. "I thought it might be about food when you said 'honey'."

Maia laughed again and tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. "You're funny, Sapel," she grinned.

"Well, I just never heard of some of these things before. On Terra Two, if they wanted to mate, they just did."

"You mean, they did it in front of you?!" The girl's eyes grew wide.

"No, not really. They always tried to not let us see or hear them, but when you all live in the same room, it's pretty hard to be private."

Maia was quiet for a moment, then asked softly, her eyes cut to the side to gauge his answer. "Have you ever ... um ..."

"No," he answered cautiously. "Not actually. I've done it with my hand sometimes. Um ... have you ever...?"

"No. Up in Risa City, it's real common for girls to go into the Trade as soon as they hit puberty, but Dad wouldn't allow that for us," Maia said. "That's why we live way out here on this island. He's pretty old fashioned."

Sapel pondered that for a while, trying to ignore the tightness in his groin that the conversation had started. To change the subject, he asked, "How old are you, Maia?"

"By Federation Standard years, I'm 13. How about you?"

Sapel had to calculate from Avalon time to Standard. "About 14, I think, in Earth years. I get mixed up sometimes." He shrugged again. "I don't know reading or counting or writing very well. My parents tried to teach me, but I didn't see much point in it, so I didn't pay much attention."

"What _did_ you pay attention to?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"Things that _did_ matter. How to hunt and track game. How to make tools and weapons. How to read weather signs and put up food for the winter."

"Was it very terrible there?" Maia asked quietly.

Sapel was silent and lay back on the sand, his gaze wandering over the stars that clustered thickly overhead. The muted rush of the surf and gentle breeze in the palms turned his thoughts back to Sea Home, to a time before the hurricane had wrecked it and he had roamed the hills with Scruffy, nearly as free as the hunting cat. Except for the times when the sea monsters were around, he had loved the beach, searching for shellfish and arthropods in the tide pools, racing the waves as they washed ashore, collecting eggs from the seabird nests. Suddenly he missed it with an aching pain such as he'd seldom known.

"It was wonderful," he finally answered. "I want to go back there. I want to go _home_."

Maia reclined beside him and propped herself on one elbow, her cheek resting in her palm. With her other hand, she trailed her fingertips over his shoulder and down his bare chest.

"Tell me about your home," she entreated him.

And so Sapel talked, describing for her the vast savannahs populated by herds of grazers, the long winding rivers that snaked down to the sea, the coast where they had lived and the fearsome beasts that swam there. He told her of Mooch and Scruffy and Picku, of the lions and werewolves and giant elk, of adventures and close calls and times of joy. By the time he had finished, they were alone on the beach and Maia was snuggled in his arms. Her presence warmed Sapel with a new-found heat that he had experienced only in a dream and abruptly he understood why he had felt the way he did in that night-time fantasy.

Again he felt his body tighten, his blood throbbing into his groin and making it grow hard with anticipation.

As she became aware of his silence, Maia lifted her face up to peer into his and felt the heat begin to radiate through her, as well. Without speaking, Sapel bent his head and brought his lips down gently onto hers, tentatively at first then with growing confidence. It was his first kiss and the sweet warmth of her mouth sent a surge through his body to center in his gut.

She slipped her arm around his neck and pressed harder into the kiss, and instinctively he made to roll her further onto her back, but she abruptly pushed at his shoulder and stopped him.

"Not yet," she whispered. "It's too soon." Kissing him quickly again, she wriggled free and got up, hurriedly adjusting her sarong-like wrap. "Come on. We'd better go to bed now."

Startled, Sapel sat up and stared at her. "Bed?"

Maia giggled merrily. "Not _together_ , silly! What are you thinking?! No, come on before Dad comes looking for us! It's late!"

Sapel scrambled to his feet as well, glad the darkness hid the obviously evidence of his arousal, and took her hand in his, trotting beside her up the beach toward the house, his heart pounding with an excitement that filled him to bursting.

* * *

Spock's snoring woke Christine the next morning, something that amused her greatly. He normally was a silent sleeper, but on occasion this all-too-human foible had been known to afflict him. This time it must have been the champagne from the night before. After making love on the beach, they had gone back up to the cabin, taken a quick sonic shower in the booth outside to rid themselves of sand and salt, then he had swooped her up into his arms and carried her ceremoniously over the threshold.

By this time she was laughing like a schoolgirl and couldn't seem to stop. The chilled champagne awaiting them at bedside hadn't helped and she'd gotten downright tipsy before she knew it. He, of course, professed not to be affected at all by the alcohol, but she noted that he was definitely relaxed to a degree that was unusual for him, even with her.

They'd made love one more time before the effects of the late hour, the wedding feast, the previous amorous activity, and the sparkling wine took their toll and the pair had fallen into deep, satisfied sleep.

Now morning had come and the sun was well up, judging from the angle of the rays reaching in through the bamboo blinds on the windows. Christine was definitely lazy, the bed extremely comfortable, and her companion very good to look at.

Turned on his side facing her, his soft snoring accompanied the peaceful vulnerability of his familiar features. Dark lashes spread on his high cheekbones, black brows upswept in graceful accent, cheeks and chin rough with unshaven stubble. As she let her eyes roam over his countenance, she noted the threads of silver that shown within his thick, jet hair, tousled in sleep, and that there was also a dusting of white in his beard.

He was still so young, for a Vulcan, she reflected with a hint of melancholy, but the past few years had aged him prematurely. There were lines on his face that shouldn't have been there and she thought back to the almost heart-breakingly handsome young man she had encountered when she'd first beamed aboard the _Enterprise_. Had it really been 20 years ago? The serene, composed features had made her heart thump with unexpected vigor as he had stepped from behind the transporter console to greet her and Dr. McCoy, both of them taking up their new assignments on the ship. She'd never been so close to a Vulcan before and he took her breath away.

How could she possibly know then that someday she would be lying next to him, naked and suffused in the warm glow of his love, eternally bonded to this extraordinary man, the mother of his children, and his companion for life? Back then, she was in search of another man with whom she had intended to share those things. Had her heart known better when it pounded so hard as the cool, dark eyes of this alien being transfixed and held her? Had he known then as well?

She thought not. He had closed himself off from the pain and turmoil of Human emotion, wearing a mask that fooled most of the crew into believing he was as cold and unfeeling as an automaton. Some saw through it, however. The Captain. Dr. McCoy. …Herself. She could feel it. Had known it as their eyes locked that first day in the transporter room. A strange thought had crossed her mind that day, one coming from no place that she could fathom. _His babies will be beautiful_ … She'd blinked and come back to reality, finding the rigid Vulcan face wearing just a hint of puzzlement, one eyebrow elevated slightly higher than the other.

The thought of children turned her mind to something they had discussed recently and now, peering into the adored face of her beloved husband, she considered again a subject they had been debating before. Spock's next Time of Mating was not far off, only a year or so, and he was well aware that she did not desire more children for a number of reasons. Her age was a definite factor. She was 46, a time when most Human women had long since ended their child-bearing years by surgical or chemical means. She was eager to resume her career in biochemical research once their troubles with Starfleet were settled, and she already had three children to consider.

Sapel needed extensive tutoring if he were to function in the civilized world and Jenny needed catch-up education to prepare her for entering school. T'Kai would be the easiest to deal with, for she was just beginning nursery school and was young enough for her birth and first years on Avalon not to affect her.

It was a problem Christine and Spock had talked about numerous times. There was simply so much to consider as they attempted to re-start their lives after the long exile alone. So much to do…

Still, as Christine gazed affectionately at her sleeping mate, there was a longing she could not deny. It was a primeval urging, as acutely feminine as could be found in the cosmos, and, coupled with Spock's radiant sexuality and their shared devotion, she found it hard to deny. _Perhaps one more baby_ , she thought. _Before I really am too old_…

She reached out and lightly touched his lower lip with a fingertip, smiling as she remembered how his mouth had tasted the night before, champagne-drenched and hot with desire. Spock gave a start and opened his eyes, for a second disoriented to find her smiling at him, her crystalline blue eyes shining.

"Good morning," she murmured and bent forward to kiss him.

"Good morning," he answered muzzily in return. Still half-asleep, he simply lay looking at her, his eyes in the morning light a warm, mahogany brown that few had ever seen. To most, his eyes seemed so dark as to be almost black. Christine knew better, for she had gazed into those eyes so often that she knew every shade and nuance.

"How about some breakfast?" she asked.

"If you wish it, beloved, but I am still fatigued from last evening," he replied with a little smile.

"No, I meant _food_!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "Although the other would be nice, too!"

"Food would be a more logical choice at the moment," he replied, reaching up to trail his fingertips down her cheek. "Perhaps afterwards I will be fortified enough that we might…"

She leaned in and kissed him solidly, then rose from the warmth of the bed and caught up the thick white robe that lay across the room's chair. He enjoyed the sight of her sun-splashed body for the moment it took for her to don the robe, then she padded barefoot into the cabin's kitchen.

"Wonder what there is to eat?" her voice floated back amid noises of exploration.

"There should be fruit and breakfast breads in the food cooler," Spock called back, rolling onto his back and stretching. He felt decidedly decadent, but decided that their wedding morning was a suitable occasion for such luxury. They would be back into their routine soon enough.

There were sounds of food preparation in the kitchen, then Christine reentered the bedroom, bearing a tray filled with various fruit, rolls, a carafe of red-purple juice, and a pot of coffee, along with various and sundry utensils and dishes. Spock pushed himself upright against the pillows, only the bed's sheets covering him from the waist down.

As she pressed a small button on the side, legs popped out of the tray's corners and Christine settled the tray across Spock's lap, then she shucked her robe and crawled back into bed next to him, fluffing her pillows at her back. While she did this, Spock picked up a small flat PADD that she'd also placed on the tray, its "attention" light blinking incessantly.

"We have a message," he observed and started to activate the device.

"No, let's eat first," Christine retorted, buttering a scone. "If it were an emergency or something really urgent, someone would have come down here in person to notify us."

"Hmmm ... logical." Spock laid the data device to one side and for the next hour, they enjoyed a leisurely and mildly erotic breakfast, feeding one another cubes of fruit, exchanging kisses, and dribbling juice (intentionally or otherwise) that required further clean-up.

"We need to take a shower," Christine mumbled between kisses, tickling her tongue against his and licking gently at his lower lip.

"Indeed," he responded, bending his head to lick juice from one bare breast. "That would seem to be in order before we return to the main house."

"Mmmm..." She sucked on one sticky finger as he worked at getting all the fruit juice from around her nipple. "I suppose we _do_ have to go back, don't we?"

"It would be unreasonable to assume that we can stay here forever," he murmured. Then, straightening with a sigh, he added, "We should see what the message is that was forwarded to us."

"Suppose so..." Christine leaned back, sucking juice off another of her fingers and watched as Spock activated the PADD.

The little screen came alive with the cheerful face of Tom Okanga, their attorney on Earth. It was a pre-recorded message, not requiring their interaction, and they focused their attention on the viewscreen.

"Howdy, you love birds, and congrats on making it legal!" Okanga began with a wide grin. "I'll make this short so you can get back to your honeymoon, but I need for the two of you to come back to Earth no later than the end of the week. Well, that doesn't make any sense, does it? I tend to forget about time differences..." He trailed off in a sort of grumble. "Five Standard days then, how's that? The Board's ready to make a ruling in your case and you need to be here by Friday, San Fran time, so we can go over everything and be ready for court on Monday morning. Now, get back to the birds 'n' bees stuff and I'll see you in a few days!" and the little screen went black.

* * *

The presiding admiral tapped the ancient's ship's bell three times and announced, "This hearing will come to order. In re Commander Spock cha'Sarek. In re Lieutenant Christine M. Chapel. Continuation of hearing recessed on Stardate 7852.4. Counsel, do you have any remarks you wish to make before this Board resumes?"

The prosecuting attorney stood up. "No further comments, sir," he said and sat down.

Tom Okanga, today dressed in a white tailored suit and looking like God himself, rose and stated, "Honorable Members of the Board, we reiterate our position that these proceedings are moot and should be dismissed in light of our position that the defendants are legally dead and therefore no longer subject to Starfleet regulations." He re-seated himself.

Admiral Jackowitz managed to keep from scowling, as did his fellow two command grade officers, Admiral Hiyataki and Admiral Reed. Jackowitz cleared his throat. "Thank you, counsel. Those issues will be addressed. My fellow Board members and I have researched the legalities involved here and any precedent case law and are prepared to make our ruling on this matter. The defendants will please rise."

Spock and Christine, both of them dressed in dark, conservative civilian attire rather than their uniforms, stood up together and faced the court-martial, Christine noticeably tense, although Spock was seemingly without any emotion whatsoever.

Jackowitz looked from one to the other and stated, "This Board finds the defendants, Commander Spock cha'Sarek and Lieutenant Christine Marie Chapel, to be alive and the declaration of their deaths to be in error. To that end, the charges brought against them are valid and legal. On the charge that the defendants violated General Order No. 1 while marooned on the planet now known as Avalon in Beta Quadrant, Sector 8963... We find the violation to have occurred under duress and extraordinary circumstances and hereby dismiss all such charges."

Christine closed her eyes and wilted visibly for a second, causing Spock to glance sideways at her. But she recovered and turned her attention back to the court.

Jackowitz continued, "The matter of open colonization of Avalon in light of its occupation by sentient natives is currently under consideration by the United Federation of Planets Colonization Committee. The testimony given by the defendants regarding their contact with the Avalon natives has been turned over to that Committee for further study." He consulted the PADD before him and went on, "Having been declared alive and _de facto_ political prisoners of the Romulan Empire during their absence, Commander Spock and Lt. Chapel are due the following amounts in back pay, combat duty, hazard duty, and compensation... To Commander Spock, the sum of 215,889 Credits to be deposited into his Starfleet account as of this date. To Lt. Chapel, the sum of 194,724 Credits to be deposited into her Starfleet account as of this date."

Now Spock's eyebrows rose in surprise, even as Christine gasped softly beside him. Neither had realized how much Starfleet owed them for the years they'd been gone.

Jackowitz wasn't finished, however. "The defendants, having been found alive and having all charges dismissed against them, are hereby reactivated to duty and will report to Starfleet Medical at 0700 on Thursday, September 8 ... some three days hence ... for standard physical examinations and assignment. If there is no further commentary, this hearing _is_ closed."

He started to strike the ship's bell, but Okanga stood up abruptly. "Your Honor, there _is_ another matter."

"Yes?"

Okanga nodded and the tall Vulcan at his side spoke for the first time. "Admiral, distinguished Board members, my wife and I thank you for your consideration in this matter. However, we have made the decision to resign our commissions as Starfleet officers and return to civilian life, effective immediately."

All three board officers were startled. "Commander Spock," answered Jackowitz. "Have you fully considered this decision, in light of your long and brilliant career with Starfleet? And, Lt. Chapel, your medical career is distinguished. We could use people like you on starship duty again."

"Admiral, I have three children to raise and another career — my _chosen_ career in biochemistry — to resume," Christine responded. "I can assure you that Spock and I have spent a lot of time discussing this. Our minds are made up."

Jackowitz sighed. "Very well. Tender the proper paperwork and your discharge pay will be added to your account balances. Accounting will begin your retirement benefits as soon as it can work its way through the system. If that's all, ladies and gentlemen...?" He looked around the hearing room. "These proceedings are ended. Dismissed!"

* * *

**Stardate 8190.7 -- Two years later**

The dust and stench of coppery blood would have choked Christine if she weren't already gasping for breath in Vulcan's thin atmosphere. There was no escape now from the arena, for the males fighting Spock for her possession would have pounced had she made a break for freedom.

Any movement on her part would have distracted Spock and that would mean his death. His opponent was doing his best to find an opening in Spock's defenses, looking for a chance to decapitate his rival. Both Vulcans were equally matched, both covered with bleeding wounds where the lethal blades of the _lirpas_ had already found their mark.

The two men circled one another, both nearly naked in the heat. Spock wore only his leather breechcloth, his bronzed skin glistening with a patina of sweat. The other Vulcan was girded with a loin covering of linen-like cloth, tied about the waist with a long, thin strap — an _ahn-woon_. He was not sweating, for he was full Vulcan and the heat and dust did not affect him as it did Spock.

Christine was crouched in the sand to one side, wearing her summer attire of leather halter and loincloth, guarded by two other men, who watched the combat raptly. Whoever won this round would immediately be set upon by one of the watchers. None of them cared who lived or died, only that in the end the victor would take the woman there in the bloody arena, mating with her in triumph and in testament to his virility and strength.

Christine cared very much who won, however, for should Spock die, she would be the property of a stranger, his to use, abuse or destroy at his whim. And even if Spock prevailed in this current round, he still had two others to fight. Such was the way of things on Vulcan, where men killed for the right to mate and logic had never been practiced.

The Vulcan warrior made a lunge with his _lirpa_ for Spock's mid-section, but Spock whirled away from the blade and swung the cudgel end at his opponent's head. The impact splattered blood and bone into the air and the man dropped, dead before he hit the sand.

Spock scarcely had time to draw a breath before the second man had leaped into the ring, brandishing his own _lirpa_.

Spock countered his rush, the shafts of the weapons crashing together. Blood fever gave Spock the advantage of insane strength, but he was growing fatigued from exertion and the seeping blood of his wounds.

Still, he was deep into _plak tow_ and this was a male intent on stealing his mate. All his primal instincts were inflamed by the scents of blood and pheromones that permeated the air. He gave a mighty shove and the second man stumbled back.

Spock was on him at once, gouging with the _lirpa_ blade, aiming for a vulnerable spot. The man danced out of reach and Spock charged after him, swinging the _lirpa_ in a fierce thrust.

The blade sliced through the man's thigh and he went down with a guttural cry. Seeing his opportunity, Spock slammed the blade into the man's chest, pinning his dying body to the emerald-drenched sand.

The third man hit Spock immediately, tackling him and bowling them both over into a tangled heap. The new opponent was already winding his _ahn-woon_ around Spock's neck, twisting the strap into a deadly garrote. For a second, Spock grappled with him, trying to loosen the constriction around his throat, then his hand groped at his waist — and came up grasping the hilt of the Romulan hunting knife. His arm swung up and then down again, burying the long steel blade in his attacker's back. Again the hand rose and fell, once more finding its target, green blood flying away from its trajectory. A third time and the man collapsed on top of him, the knife sunk to the hilt in his spine.

Christine had been watching it all with her heart in her throat, too terrified to even move. The carnage had been too horrible for words, but now she felt an odd, exciting elation sing through her.

Spock was rising from the sand, his body slick with sweat and blood, his eyes on fire and fixed on her, his face a mask of savagery and barbarism.

He had won. He had won _her_. And now he was going to claim his prize. Even as he stalked toward her, he was untying the belt of his loincloth and it fell away from him, unnoticed.

The excitement pulsing through Christine surged as her eyes locked onto his massive erection and his arousal ran through her whole being like a wild fire. Her hands fumbled at her meager clothing, trying to get it free, then he was on her, ripping her covering aside with powerful hands and pushing her hard onto her back.

Before she could prepare herself, he was atop her, shoving one leg up and out to open her, and slamming into her with a force that knocked the breath from her body. His weight on her chest, thrusting with animal ferocity, prevented her lungs from refilling, and the thin atmosphere hampered it still further. She gasped futilely, tried to push him off her, and only succeeded in making him clutch her tighter and pump even harder within her.

Lack of oxygen began to make her vision go black and she fought with a panic-borne strength to dislodge him before she passed out—

* * *

Christine jerked into full wakefulness and for a moment could not get her bearings. It was night, she was in her own bed — and Spock was indeed clutching her tight, deep asleep, the fingers of one hand in a claw against her face. He was punching his hard erection into her hip with bruising force, grunting with effort.

She tried to squirm free, to breathe, but he only worked faster and drew her harder against him. "Spock!" she cried. "Wake up!"

No reaction.

"Spock!" She tried kicking at his shin. "You're dreaming! Wake up!"

He growled at her, deep in his throat, a warning sound that both startled and infuriated her. In her brain, the mental scenario was still rolling, like a holo she couldn't get out of. Unable to think of anything else to break his concentration, she got as much leverage as she could and slammed the heel of her hand into the bridge of his nose, a move she'd learned in hand-to-hand class.

" _Wake UP!_ "

The blow not only knocked him loose from her, but knocked him off the sleeping platform as well. He hit the floor with an "oof!" and lay there for a moment, dazed. When he finally did sit up, it was to gingerly feel around his aching nose and comment, "I believe you broke it. Really, Christine, there was no need for such violence."

"I think there was!" she retorted, sitting up and peering at him, half in concern and half in consternation. "Really, yourself! If you want to fuck, you don't have to strangle me to do it! Just ask!"

"I apologize. I was apparently dreaming."

"Apparently! I felt like I was in an episode of Sonak the Barbarian!"

"More like Asakar the Barbarian," Spock responded and got to his feet.

"Who?"

"One of my Ancestors. From long before Reform. Truly, Christine, I think you broke my nose!" His fingers came away from his nostrils green with blood and he looked aggrieved.

"Here, let me see." Spock sat down on the side of the platform and Christine's expert touch assessed his injury.

"Ow!"

"Oh, hush! You sound like T'Jenn! It's not broken. You just have a nosebleed. Go put a cold wet cloth on it and it will stop in a moment."

Spock did as he was told and returned to the bed. "Now," said his wife. "Let's talk about what just happened. Is it Time?"

"Yes," Spock admitted, dabbing at his nose with the cloth. The bleeding was abating. "Soon, anyway. I didn't expect it for a few more months, but my internal chronology is skewed because of the many time changes we have undergone. We must make plans."

"What sort of plans?" She was puzzled. "Can't we just lock ourselves in our bedroom and take care of business?"

"No, not here." Spock checked the amount of blood again. Almost stopped. "We can't stay at Keldeen. There are too many men here."

They had come back to Vulcan following their trial, taking up residence at the family estate of Keldeen, which Spock owned through inheritance. It was tradition that when the Eldest died, Keldeen was left to the youngest heir, and thus Spock had received title to the estate from the passing of his great-grandfather when Spock was 22. The vast holding was a working agricultural station on the north side of the Llangon Hills, over 50,000 acres in _tikh_ grain, which went into the Vulcan treasury of food that fed the planet. They also raised sheep-like animals that provided fleece that was used in clothing manufacture. Another 25,000 acres, located in the hills themselves, was too barren for farming and was a wildlife sanctuary, held in trust for the Vulcan people.

Christine remembered how shocked she'd been upon learning that Spock was an exceedingly wealthy landowner, although he seldom actually visited or resided here, and that the estate was managed by other family members in his absence. But he was the Elder here, no matter that most of the other family members were actually many years his senior, and his quarters were always kept prepared for his arrival.

The main dwelling was a sprawling, double-story house, looking more like an adobe pueblo than anything to Christine's eyes, clinging to the hillside and overlooking the plains of golden grain that stretched to the horizon. The thick walls of the house both shielded from the blazing heat of day and the frigid desert chill of night. Between family and staff, about 30 people lived here at any one time, and they had calmly greeted Spock and his family when they'd taken up residence. Security was almost invisible, but the swarm of media and hangers-on that they'd encountered on Earth had vanished as soon as they reached Keldeen. Nothing of the outside disturbed them here, unless they wished it.

For that, Christine was grateful. Her nerves were frazzled and she'd welcomed the quiet of the country estate. The children had settled in and begun lessons in the estate school, being tutored to help them catch up with their contemporaries, the dozen or so children of Keldeen's permanent residents. Over the ensuing year and a half, life had become a soothing routine here, until this...

"What do you mean, there are too many men?" she asked and then visualized the dream. "Oh! You mean you'd actually fight them over me?"

"I mean exactly that," Spock answered with a sigh. "A male in _pon farr_ cannot be in the presence of other males. The blood fever causes the type of insanity you saw in my dream. I would view even Sapel as a rival and attack him. We must remove ourselves to a place in the hills that is set aside for such a time. We will have female attendants there, as we should have had during the times on Avalon. You suffered needlessly then. I regret that. You will see now how such times are handled here."

"How soon?" she asked.

"I do not know precisely," Spock replied. "I estimate approximately ten to twelve days. We should begin making preparations in the morning."

"Okay. How's your nose?"

"A bit tender, but no longer bleeding."

"Good. Come here and let me kiss it all better." Spock glanced around at her in surprise, but she was smiling. He obediently bent toward her and she softly touched her lips to where she had hit him. Then she continued with her light kisses until she reached his mouth, where she leaned into him with more force, touching her tongue to his lips until he parted them. "Mmmm," Christine murmured when she drew away from him, although not too far. "Now, come back to bed and let's take care of your other problem."

"My other problem?"

"Yes, do I need to kiss it all better, too?" She grinned mischievously and he understood.

"No, although I believe a vigorous massage might be in order." He stretched out beside her and took her in his arms, capturing her mouth.

When they parted, Christine whispered, "Just one thing, Barbarian Boy. Let me breathe this time, okay? It's a lot more fun that way!"

* * *

It had been a bad day all around, Sapel decided as he strode into the main hall of the house. He had been unable to fathom the problem that his tutor, Sarin, had posed to him and the harder he tried to figure it out, the more frustrated he'd become. At last, Sarin had stopped the exercise and ordered Sapel to meditate and bring calm to his soul.

Sapel had meditated alright, but his thoughts took him home, to Avalon, tramping through the tall grass of the plains, Maia at his side. Her long black hair rippled in the breeze and her green eyes sparkled like jewels in the sunlight, her honeyed skin warm and inviting. Her presence inflamed him and, in his thoughts, he envisioned himself taking her down into the fragrant grass and making love to her.

Sarin had noticed the 17-year-old's increased breathing and had reached out to lightly touch his temple. The sexual heat he found there caused him to abruptly pull Sapel from his ruminations.

"This is not proper meditation," the tutor scolded. "I shall speak with your father. You are dismissed for the day."

The teacher had exited abruptly, leaving Sapel shocked and angry. He had gone for a walk to regain control, but it was the beginning of summer here on Vulcan and the blistering heat drove him back indoors after only a few minutes.

He tried the stables where the family's _hox_ mares and foals were housed, but his crackling tension caused the nursing mothers to flatten their ears and bare their teeth at him, smelling a predator in their midst. The little long-legged babies bleated in terror and hid behind their mothers' flanks, and Sapel left, thoroughly annoyed.

Increasingly irritated by everything, Sapel stomped back to the main house. He didn't know why he felt so tense, so on edge. Maia kept slipping seductively into his thoughts, teasing him, and he felt ready to jump out of his skin. His groin felt tight, almost as it did when he was aroused, and he surprised himself by letting his eyes follow one of the young female house workers as she carried a tray through the main hall, on her way to the kitchens. With her long black hair, she almost looked like Maia...

He started after her.

"Sapel!"

He flinched, startled, before turning to see his mother crossing the hall. It vexed him that she had interrupted his pursuit of the servant maid. He wanted that girl!

Christine was oblivious to her son's state of mind as she approached him. He was nearly as tall as she was now, although he hadn't caught up with his father's 6'2" stature, and he silently faced her, eye-to-eye.

"What are you doing out of class so early?" Christine asked, coming to a halt before him.

"Master Sarin dismissed me," he answered stonily. "I couldn't please him today."

"Why not?"

"I just couldn't, all right?! Leave me alone!" The teen started to turn away but Christine reached out to catch his arm. Sapel jerked away as if burned. "Don't touch me!" he snapped. "You have no right!"

Christine's eyebrows were nearly to her hairline by now. "What is wrong with you?" she answered stuffily. "I'm your mother! I'll touch you anytime I like!"

Sapel's voice deepened to a dangerous growl. "You will _not_!" he warned her. "A woman may not touch a man who is not hers!"

Christine's mouth fell open. "Not _hers_?" she repeated in shock. "Who the hell do you think I am?! You're going to have a long discussion with your father, young man!"

Sapel's hand shot out and grasped her wrist, tightening like an iron band around it. "This does not concern him," he hissed, leaning in to glare into his mother's face, now registering sudden fear as she tried to tug herself free.

A long-fingered hand clamped onto Sapel's shoulder and yanked him around. " _What are you doing to her?!_ " Spock roared, his face livid with anger.

For a few seconds, everything in the hall froze as if time had stopped. Father and son locked murderous glares, Christine stared at both of them, and the half-dozen or so residents of Keldeen who had been on the outskirts of the scene looked as shocked as Vulcans were able. Then abruptly all the bystanders averted their eyes and hurried out of sight. Every one of them had recognized what was happening and had fled the embarrassing scene as decorum demanded.

None of the principals noticed. Instead, Spock bent toward his son and ground out, "She is _mine_! If you declare challenge, we will summon an arbitrator and settle this now!"

Infuriated, Sapel raised a fist and prepared to attack.

Christine leaped between them. " _Kroykah!_ " she shouted, the ancient command halting the two men in their tracks. "Stop this nonsense! What's wrong with both of you?!"

Spock stepped back, seeming to come to himself, although he did not drop his gaze from his son's sweating face.

Christine turned and jabbed her finger into Sapel's chest. "You, young man — go to your room this instant!" She whirled and did the same to her husband. "And you go to _your_ room! I'll be up in a minute to talk to both of you!"

Neither moved and Christine clenched her fists and commanded, " _NOW!_ "

Spock spun and stalked away toward the front stairs while Sapel retreated in the opposite direction, heading for another route to his bedroom. Christine stood alone in the main hall for a long moment, trying to still her beating heart, then she headed after Sapel, wondering how she was going to handle this.

* * *

Christine found Sapel huddled on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. Sitting beside him, she slipped her arm around his shaking shoulders and squeezed gently. "It's all right, sweetie," she murmured. "Everything is going to be all right."

"I don't know what's happening to me, Mama," he sobbed. "Why did I do that? I feel like I'm going crazy!"

"In a way, you are," she soothed him. "Or, rather, your _father_ is."

"I don't understand." He lifted his face and swiped at his wet cheeks with the heel of one hand. "Has Papa gone like ... like when ... T'Larin was killed?" The boy's eyes registered pure misery. He well remembered that Spock had gone nearly insane with grief and had deserted them to undertake a pilgrimage into the wilderness to recover his senses.

"No, no, honey, nothing like that," Christine assured him. "No, your papa is going into _pon farr_ and you're getting the backwash from it. He and I will be leaving early tomorrow morning for a week or so until it passes. Otherwise, every male in the vicinity would be lining up with a _lirpa_ and the intention of killing all the others. You, too, baby doll. You're old enough to be a threat to him. That's why you're both acting like wild men."

"But what can I do?" Sapel pleaded. "Where are you going that will keep that from happening?"

"Somewhere up in the hills. Papa says it's a family sanctuary for times like this."

Sapel sighed heavily. "That's fine for you, but I'm ready to scream. Mama, I _hate_ this place! I hate the people, I hate the customs, I hate the heat and the food! _I want to go hunting and eat fresh meat again!_ " He clutched his head once more, his composure slipping. "Why can't they let me alone? I don't care about all the stuff they're trying to make me learn! I can't act like them! I'm not a Vulcan! Just because I look like one doesn't _make_ me one! Oh, gods, Mama — _I want to go home!_ "

The young man began to sob again, his tenuous control breaking. For a while, Christine rocked him in her arms, waiting until he quieted and trying to think of a solution to her son's dilemma. Finally, she said, "I have an idea. How would you like to go back to Risa and visit the Hendriksons again? Verise said we're welcome anytime and I think you've worked hard enough to deserve a little vacation from school."

Sapel lifted his head and peered at his mother. "You mean it? Really?" The sudden image of Maia's green eyes appeared in his mind and his body stiffened at the thought of seeing her again.

Christine didn't notice. "I think I can arrange it," she smiled. "But we won't tell Papa right now, though, okay? He's got enough on his mind as it is."

"Okay." For the first time, Sapel's face brightened and he smiled.

"Good," Christine answered, patting his hand and rising. "Now I've got to go calm down your father. You pack what you'll need and I'll be back later to get things ready for you."

The teenager rose and pulled his mother into a tight hug. "I love you, Mama! Thank you!"

* * *

Spock was pacing in agitation when Christine entered their bedroom. "Where have you been?!" he demanded roughly, then abruptly seized her shoulders and pulled her to him, planting his mouth on hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue thrust between her lips, nearly strangling her, as she struggled to push him away.

He saved her the trouble, suddenly pulling back then burying his face in her hair, snuffling her scent in deeply. Angrily he straightened and roared, " _I said where have you been?!_ "

"I've been talking with Sapel!" she shot back, then calmed herself, realizing that he was behaving as the blood fever demanded.

"More than talking, I'd say!" Spock growled. "His odor is all over you! What have you been doing?! Why did he touch you?!" His fingers tightened painfully on her shoulders, digging in with cruel intensity.

"Spock — you're hurting me! Let go!"

With an effort, he released her and stepped back, but he was shaking and his breath came hard as he fought to control himself.

"Now," said Christine. "Let's try this again. You smell Sapel on me because I hugged him. He's my son, Spock. I can—"

"Hugged him?! Why?" The dark eyes blazed with barely restrained jealousy. "You want him, don't you?! You told me once that you'd do anything when the Time came upon him!"

"Spock! Get a grip! I was speaking out of utter desperation then. I don't know what I would have done, but I won't do it now! Anyway, _he's_ not going to _pon farr_ — _you_ are! It's the fever that's making you talk like this! Stop and think!"

For a long moment, there was only the sound of Spock's labored breathing as the two stared at one another, then the Vulcan swallowed hard and took a long, cleansing inhalation. "I ... I am sorry, Christine," he said in a shaky voice. "You are correct. I had no right to make such accusations."

"I know. I understand." She peered at him anxiously. "How exactly are you feeling?"

"Afire," he whispered hoarsely. "I burn for thee, _aduna_. I yearn for our joining. It is hard to even be in your presence without the flame in my heart nearly consuming me!"

"Then it's time to leave," she assured him. "Is everything prepared?"

"The attendants left this morning," he gulped. "All will be ready." Her scent was overwhelming him and he involuntarily took a step forward. "Christine, I dare not stay here any longer. I am too near the time. I fear ... I fear I will take you here and we will never make it to the shelter if I do not go."

She could feel his arousal radiating through their link and was beginning to shudder with anticipation herself. "Will you meditate tonight?"

"Yes." He stared at her hungrily, then pulled himself away by sheer force of will. "I must go! Come to me at dawn."

And without further word, Spock fled the room, leaving the gauzy door draperies to settle behind him in the hot, evening breeze.

* * *

The day was already hot as Christine climbed the steps to _Shi-Katelaya_ , although the red sun of Vulcan had barely broken the rim of the dark Llangon Hills. Clad in sheer white robes and barefoot, as was custom, she was going to her husband alone, having been set on the path by the elderly women who had dressed her. The stairway was narrow but paved and easily followed, which was well because Christine had thoughts only for Spock, for their waiting bed, and for the joining of mind and body to come.

Sapel had been dispatched the night before to his grandparents with instructions to send him on to Risa. Then Christine, free of distractions, had retired to her bedroom and surrendered herself to the growing fire and need that crackled through her mindbond with her mate, somewhere ahead now and sinking rapidly into _plak tow_.

Her body dripped with sweat already, both from the climbing temperature of the summer dawn and from the sexual arousal that pounded within her. Her long hair, sun-streaked blonde, hung loose down her back, but plastered itself in dark tendrils around her face, making her fevered blue eyes all the more intense as she peered up the hillside to the small, low-slung dwelling ahead.

Was he there? Was he awaiting her? She could feel his nearness and it threatened to undo her. Unbidden, one hand stole to her full breast, fondling the hard nipple that strained against the gauze. She wanted his hands, his mouth on her! Wanted him inside her — both mentally and physically — and the answering surge she received back through the link told her that he strained toward the same goal.

Sweat trickled between her breasts like the fingers of her Vulcan lover and the slickness between her legs seemed to gush with new vigor. She had thrashed and moaned throughout the night, her hands upon her body, needing him with a ferocity that threatened to drive her mad. She had sought to relieve the tension with her hands between her legs, but it only intensified the distress of his absence. She _ached_ for him, was in physical pain without him!

Unable to endure the waiting any longer, she began to leap up the final steps to the covered patio of the little building and with relief burst through the curtains of the doorway!

He wasn't there. He was coming to her, but he wasn't there yet. Panting, Christine's heart sank as she looked around the Place of Mating – _Shi-Katelaya_. It wasn't much more than a single room, its floor space covered with a large, square futon, ivory-colored and cushiony, strewn with pillows and bolsters in muted desert colors. To the left was a small kitchen area where fruits and bread and wine were waiting. To the right was the door to a tiny 'fresher and beside that was an arched colonnade that led to a sheltered alcove. Through it, Christine could see a cascade of water falling from a rocky overhang, splashing onto a level stone floor and then running into a steaming pool. Flowers of gold and tangerine and cool blue framed the area, hung from vine-covered trellises, an oasis in the desert. Whether it was all natural or constructed she could not tell, for it blended into the natural setting of the surroundings perfectly.

It was beautiful and calming to the woman's fevered soul. The water beckoned her, promising to cool her flushed skin, and she moved toward it, stripping the robes away and leaving them where they fell. Without hesitation, she stepped under the cascade and turned her face upward, allowing the sensuous caress of the warm water to wash over her, sheeting across her back, dribbling off her breasts, trickling down through the patch of dark hair at her groin and then spattering onto the sandstone tiles underneath her feet.

Lifting her hands, she pushed her thick tresses away from her face, shivering not from cold but from the exquisite touch that reminded her so of Spock's — and that made her need of him surge up once again, calling to him through their bond. His presence was overwhelming and she closed her eyes and moaned out his name, begging him to come to her, to take her now!

Then suddenly, as if he had materialized from the very air, he was there, underneath the cascading shower with her, pulling her against his naked body, devouring her mouth, his hard, heated erection pressed up between them. Frantically, she returned the kiss, tongue fencing with his, both gasping for breath and groping with searching hands across the other's body. He broke away from her lips and continued to feast on her luscious body, working his way down her throat and collarbone, finally seizing one swollen breast in his mouth and sucking wildly at the engorged nipple, his other hand grasping and massaging one firm buttock.

Christine arched backward, groaning as the blood in her veins turned to a river of fire and the heat from her body rose like steam around them. Her heady, womanly scent and the taste of her salty skin broke the last vestige of Spock's tenuous control. With a deep growl, he straightened abruptly and seized her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his hip. It took him only seconds to reposition his pulsing member between her soft, moist lips and then he shoved her back against the shower wall, hips punching against her, searching for the opening to her womanhood. In a heartbeat, he was within her, thrusting desperately as the primal needs of the _plak tow_ took him completely.

Crying out, Christine clung to him, awkward as she balanced on one foot, but as lost in the act as he. Almost at once, Spock gasped and slammed himself deep, the first of the mating's many ejaculations ripping free from his body. It was not a relief. Indeed it only fueled the fire, urging him on.

Pulling out of her, he quickly swept her into his arms and collapsed with her onto the bed mat, heedless of drenched hair and dripping bodies. There was no time or thought for anything but the urgency of mating. Immediately, he covered her and plunged back into her welcoming depths, the head of his hugely distended phallus hammering for entry to her womb, where he would lodge until conception or total exhaustion brought an end to it all. It assured a successful mating, but the pain for both had long ago dictated a survival strategy.

As the firestorm of need enveloped them, Spock got his fingertips into position on Christine's face and opened his mind to hers, the lucid remnant of his psyche sweeping her away from the irrational lust and agony that was consuming them both, then neither knew anything more as the blood fever consumed them.

* * *

Amanda decided that a vacation on Risa was just what she needed. Even one so long acclimated as herself often felt the oppression of the Vulcan summer and, as she had grown more frail with age, she was more debilitated by the blast furnace temperatures than in her younger days.

At least that's what she told Sapel as they boarded the family's private warp shuttle and she wasn't entirely lying. What she didn't tell him was that she had deduced the situation and did not think it wise to send an innocent, unsophisticated teenage boy off alone to meet up with the object of his desire. And not only that. Sapel was a babe in the woods when it came to travel in the Federated Worlds. He was naive, didn't read well, and knew next to nothing about money. If he reached his destination with the clothes on his back, Amanda would have been surprised. No, the boy definitely needed a chaperone!

She didn't ask herself what Christine could have been thinking to send Sapel on a trip alone. She _knew_ what was on her daughter-in-law's mind! Amanda had experienced it often enough with her own husband over the years and understood all too well what Christine was undergoing right now! Getting Sapel out of there was absolutely the best thing!

It was only a four hour flight to Risa, plus the time involved in takeoff, approach and landing. They could have saved a bit of time by transporting up and down from the ship, but the process unsettled Sapel and Amanda had to admit it made her a bit queasy, too. She much preferred shuttle travel.

So, during the trip, she and Sapel had lunch in the ship's lounge, played a simple game of cards that Spock had enjoyed when he was small, then they sat back and watched a nature vid about the savannahs of Africa and the popular wildlife parks there.

Sapel was silent for quite a while, then commented, "It reminds me of Terra Two, except there aren't any people there."

Amanda took in his wistful expression and asked, "You miss it very much, don't you, dear?"

"More than anything!"

"Would you go back if you could?" the elderly woman queried.

"You bet I would!" her grandson responded with a hint of desperation in his voice, then his face fell. "But I don't think I'll ever be able to. Papa says they won't let anyone go back."

Amanda considered, then confided, "I can't say what the outcome will be, but I can tell you this. Your grandfather Sarek is on Earth right now, testifying to the Federation Colonization Board. He is one of the few who've actually been there — to Avalon — and his voice carries weight. Plus the Federation really wants to open that world to settlement. But your little friends there are a problem. Earth won't colonize an inhabited planet generally."

"But people wouldn't have to live where the Teela'u live," Sapel argued. "Where we lived, there weren't any ... mostly."

"I know, dear, but they have to be careful," Amanda soothed him. "There would need to be treaties worked out. Lots of things like that."

The boy looked dejected. "I just know I want to go home, Granny. I don't belong here. I don't fit in."

Amanda smiled a little and answered, "When your father was your age, he felt the same way. He had chosen to live as a Vulcan and follow Vulcan ways, but he knew — as everyone did — that he was half Human. No matter how hard he tried, he didn't fit in, either."

"What did he do?"

"He left this world for another," Amanda responded. "He followed his heart and chose his own path in life." She smiled a little. "Confidentially, so did I when I married your grandfather. You come from a long line of rebels!" She gave a light, tinkling laugh. "Must be the Human in all of us!"

"Then ... then you're telling me ... I should leave?" Sapel asked hesitantly.

"I'm telling you to do what you know is right for _you_ ," his grandmother replied, once more serious. "Sapel, there is no greater tragedy than a life wasted by trying to live it as _others_ think you should. If I had followed my mother's wishes, I would have wed a nice, safe Human man who thought and lived the way society said he _should_. I would never have known the joys or heartbreak of learning to be a part of an alien society ... or one particular alien's love. I would never have experienced the unbelievable magic of holding your father in my arms for the first time and knowing that somehow, against all odds, Sarek and I had created this little miracle. I would have never watched him grow into the brave, honorable man he is today ... or known you, my dear Sapel, or your beautiful little sisters."

Sapel looked down, embarrassed, but Amanda wasn't through. "Spock also reached a time when he had to choose the path he would take in life. It was painful for him, because he wanted to please his father, but deep down he knew that Vulcan was wrong for him. His Human heart was calling him elsewhere ... and so he followed the call, to Earth and to Starfleet. He could have remained on Vulcan, but he would have been miserable, always knowing he was supposed to be somewhere else."

Amanda leaned forward in her chair and fixed her grandson with an intense gaze. "Sapel, listen to your heart! If it is telling you to go back to Avalon, then find a way to get there! And if it's telling you to take that Risan girl with you as your wife and partner, then find a way to do it! If it's right for her, too, she'll be half-packed before you finish asking her! But now I'm not going to say anymore. I've talked a lot and I'm going to shut up and let you think. I'll just say it one more time — follow your heart, Sapel. Follow your heart!"

And with that Amanda sat back into the soft cushions of her chair and closed her eyes, silent as the shuttle began its gentle approach into Risan space.

* * *

The journey back to consciousness was very long and slow for Christine, seeming to consist of blessed, cool blackness intermixed with patches of fiery red pain, centered for the most part in her lower torso. After a few moments, she would shy away from its heat and back to the dark where she dreamed of lapping waves or rippling grasslands or the soft gurgle of water trickling over rocks. Once, she seemed close to waking and cracked one eyelid in a tentative venture into wakefulness, but hastily shut it again. The red light had flared to white brilliance and with it an agony of being ripped asunder and impaled to dangle from a barbarian warlance.

She didn't want to see anymore. It hurt too much and that sparing peek had shown her that she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Her senses identified a medical facility with its unmistakable smell of antiseptics and drugs, the gurgle of water shown now to be the soft chirp and whirr of monitoring instruments. No, this wasn't right. She was dreaming, a nightmare. She was in the Place of Mating and Spock was in _pon farr_ , locked into her mind and body. Or maybe it was over now. Her brain sorted out the images from the glimpse she had taken and she seemed to recall seeing Spock on a medical bed next to her. His eyes were closed and his face was haggard and wan, drained of life, a breathing mask over his nose and mouth, lines of bright green and pale blue liquid inserted into the side of his neck.

Something had gone wrong, she realized, and fear-laced adrenalin lanced through her body. Immediately, her whole being exploded in pain and someone screamed. Then a soft buzz began and something warm flooded through her veins. The pain stopped and she sank back into blackness.

The next time she woke, she wondered if the children were up and ready for school. Jenn was always late because she poked around. Kai-Kai would already be waiting impatiently for her sister, the stern little Vulcan face staring censoriously as the older child found her tapes and shoes. Then Christine wondered why the room smelled so strange. Had Jenny spilled something? It almost smelled like sickbay on the ship...

She moved her head against the pillow and felt a soft, familiar touch stroke across her forehead. Her eyes still closed, she smiled lazily and tried to say "Good morning", but her throat was strangely dry and wouldn't make a sound beyond a croak.

Something — a straw — was placed to her lips and Spock's low voice instructed her, "Take a sip of water. Slowly. Do not try to move too much, _aduna_. You are very ill."

Christine blinked open sleepy eyes and found her husband sitting at her bedside. He still looked awful, gaunt and pale, but at least he was up and around, though still clad in the dusty blue medical coverall she remembered from her dream.

"What...?" she managed and became aware of the dull ache that held her in its grip. "Where are we? Ummm ... is it over?" She shifted painfully but not too much. There was too much torment when she did.

"Yes, beloved, it is over," Spock whispered in a sorrowful tone. "It was extremely bad ... for both of us." His dark eyes held a pain that had nothing to do with the physical as he gazed at her. "I injured you severely. We are at the ShiKahr Medical Center. We were brought here three days ago and I have only awakened from a healing trance an hour ago."

Christine held him in her gaze, half-fearful, half-puzzled. "Why ... what went wrong?"

Spock swallowed and again stroked her face. "There was no conception," he answered in a hoarse murmur. "The _pon farr_ lasted five days with no sign of completion. Healers were summoned to separate us, both mentally and physically, and we were transported here. You have undergone surgery to repair your internal injuries while I was in _kan-sorn_."

"I dreamed ... I saw you on life support," she ventured, her voice quavering.

Spock nodded. "I was dehydrated almost to the point of death and my body fluids had to be supplemented intravenously. As have yours." He glanced to one side of her and Christine noticed for the first time that she also had IVs inserted into her veins. One of them seemed to be a sedative pump that activated when the pain register on her biobed rose beyond a certain point.

"How ... how badly was I hurt?" she asked.

His face sank again into grief. "Your uterus was perforated and your left hip joint broken. Both have been repaired, along with numerous bruises and contusions. I am so sorry, _t'hy'la,_ " he whispered, lightly trailing his fingertips down her face. "I never meant it to be this way. Please believe me!"

"Of course I believe you," Christine assured him, still feeling weak and light-headed. "I know you can't control what happens. Are you sure I didn't conceive? I always have before."

Spock gently shook his head. "I would have known and the _plak tow_ would have been broken. My body would have sensed the chemical changes in yours. That's why there was no end to the Mating. Both of us could easily have died if this had happened on Avalon without attendants. I am sorry, _t'hy'la_ ," he said again. "Truly sorry..."

They were interrupted by the entry of the petite Vulcan nurse who was watching over them. Spock's face went expressionless immediately and he rose stiffly, stepping away from the bed. The young woman only gave him a cool glance and then efficiently checked the readings on Christine's bed. "You are much improved," she informed the Human woman. "You will be allowed nourishment at the evening hour. It will strengthen you."

Christine almost answered, "Thank you," but then remembered her Vulcan manners and only gave a brief nod.

The nurse then turned to Spock and said, "You must return to your bed too, _Sai_. You are not yet strong enough to be released."

"I disagree," Spock answered quietly. "I am fully recovered."

"Healer Skodh disagrees," the little nurse retorted without the least sign of emotion. "You are to return to your bed now."

For a few seconds, there was a silent battle of wills, then Spock obeyed orders and lay back down. If his compliance pleased the nurse, she did not show it. Instead, she merely turned and left the room.

"She could give Leonard a run for his money," Christine smiled from her bed. "She has the McCoy bedside manner."

"Indeed," Spock returned and stared at the ceiling.

For a few minutes all was quiet in the hospital room, then Christine, fast falling back asleep, reached out her hand toward her husband and he was just able to touch his fingertips to hers. "I'm sorry, too," Christine murmured softly. "I wanted this one to work ... I wanted your baby ... one more time..." And then she lost her battle with slumber and said no more.

* * *

"Marry you?!" echoed Maia Hendrikson, her green eyes wide with astonishment. "Are you joking? I'm not going to marry you!"

The dark-haired teenage boy drew back as if he had been dealt a physical blow. "But ... but why not?" he asked.

"Sapel, I don't even _know_ you," she sputtered.

"Yes, you do!"

"Not _that_ well!" Maia answered. The two adolescents had spent the day together, swimming and exploring the limits of Panatonni Island, the resort on Risa that was the Hendriksons' home. It was now sundown and they had come back to the shore to watch the sun disappear into the ocean horizon. Maia had thoroughly enjoyed the day with Sapel, but this development had caught her by surprise. She struggled to get her thoughts in order. "We only met one time before. Anyway, we're too young!"

Sapel was definitely beginning to show signs of deep hurt. "What's our ages got to do with it?" he demanded.

"Well, for Goddess sake, Sapel!" the girl replied. "We're both still in school, for one thing! In fact, semester holiday is over for me and I'll be leaving in a couple of days to go back to class!"

"You could come with me instead," he argued.

"Come with you where? Back to Vulcan? What would that accomplish?"

"No, I hate Vulcan," he answered somewhat sullenly. "I'm going home to Terra Two. Avalon, they call it." He looked up, his brown eyes locking on hers pleadingly. "I want you to come with me, Maia. I need you. I love you!"

The Risan girl sat back in silence, the ocean breeze ruffling her long black hair. Even at 16, she was mature enough to know that he was serious but needed to be handled gently.

"Sapel," she began, "stop and think about this. They're not going to let you just hop on a freighter and head out into deep space. You're the grandson of the Vulcan ambassador and the son of a Starfleet hero. Your family's like royalty or something on Vulcan. You've got responsibilities. Things they expect of you."

Sapel had dropped his head. "They expect too much of me," he grumbled. "I can't live up to what they want me to do. They never ask me what _I_ want to do."

"And what's that?"

"Go home—"

"Yeah, yeah, you said that. But when you get there, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?"

"I... I..." That brought Sapel up short. "I dunno. Just _live_ , I guess."

"Just live," Maia repeated skeptically. "What a great plan!"

"Look, that's not what I mean!" he protested. "I mean ... well, there's lots to do on Two! You have to find food and water and shelter, you know. And watch out for dangerous animals that might hurt or kill you ... and mind the weather 'cause it can get nasty ... and ..."

He fell silent, caught by the slightly horrified look on Maia's face. "And that's the world you want me to go with you to? It sounds dreadful! You plan to spend the rest of your life just trying to stay alive?"

Defensive now, he shot back, "No — I mean, Terra Two is a great place! It's really beautiful and there's miles of open space and fresh air ... any kind of land you want — mountains, prairies, hills, oceans, rivers... I really want to show it to you! Maia, I really want you to come with me and be my bondmate!"

But she slowly shook her head. "No, Sapel."

"It's what I want and my grandmother said if I really wanted it, I'd figure out a way to do it!" The stubbornness had crept back into his countenance and he was figuratively digging in his heels.

It triggered the same effect in Maia. "Well, let me tell you the facts of life, Mr. Sapel-Is-God! If they ever _do_ open that planet to colonists, every single person they choose to go there will have an indispensable skill — maybe several — to offer the colony. Do you think they're gonna let you freeload along just so you can spend the rest of your life roaming around, hunting rabbits to roast? It may never have occurred to you, but it costs a lot of credits to get a ship from one planet to another! It takes dilithium, air, water, food, crew complement, and armaments to travel in space! I know — my dad's a ship captain! Your dad's a Starfleet officer! He'd tell you the same thing. In fact, I'll bet he could tell you to the last credit and minim exactly what it costs to run a starship!"

She stopped to draw breath and Sapel tried to get a word in edgewise, but Maia's ire was fully up now and she plunged ahead. "You say you want me to go with you — well, has it ever occurred to you that maybe I have plans of my own? I'm studying biology and plan to go into exobiology research! I want to go out with my dad exploring new planets and cataloging new species! _If_ I ever make it to Avalon — that's IF I ever get there — it won't be with you! I'm not going to support a lazy, spoiled little boy who just wants to whine about how bad he's got it when he's got the cushiest set up I ever saw!!"

With that, she vaulted to her feet and flounced off towards the house, leaving Sapel with his mouth hanging open and feeling as if he'd been whacked soundly between the eyes with the business end of a _lirpa_!

* * *

It was a very subdued Sapel who returned to Vulcan with his grandmother. She knew about the confrontation between the boy and Maia Hendrikson, but Sapel was disinclined to talk about it. Instead, he stared out the port the entire way home and Amanda let him stew. She'd seen Spock in such moods when he was that age.

The shuttle deposited them at Keldeen then dusted off for its home base near ShiKahr. Amanda wanted to spend a few days with her granddaughters before returning to her own home. And Spock and Christine had come home that day as well, Christine having recovered enough to be released from the med center.

T'Jenn and T'Kai were nearly out of control at the return of their parents and the simultaneous visit by their grandmother. The girls had to be reminded numerous times to maintain their decorum and finally, after Christine was settled into her bedroom, Spock took the girls down to the stables to view a new _hox_ foal that had been born earlier that week.

In the blessed peace and quiet that followed their departure, Amanda sat with Christine in the cool of the climate controlled bedroom, which had been modified for Christine's comfort. Although the thick sandstone walls of the house blocked the fierce extremes of Vulcan's environment, this room had been equipped with a chiller that dropped the ambient temperature a few more degrees and also increased the oxygen content a bit. Christine was trying very hard to accustom herself to her adopted planet, but it was still nice to retreat to a more Earth-like atmosphere.

Amanda felt the same way. Slipping off her veil and fanning herself, she commented, "It's good to be home, but, mercy, it's hot today! This air conditioning feels so good!" She turned her full attention on her daughter-in-law, propped on pillows in the large bed. "And you, dear — how are you feeling?"

"I'm better," Christine replied, although she was still pale. "I ache in places I didn't know I had places, but the worst is healing and I should be up and around in a week or so." She sighed tiredly. "Honestly, I didn't know it could be so rough. It never was before. Spock was always as gentle as he could be, but this time..."

"Because before, you became pregnant early on, I suspect," Amanda said with sympathy. "The longer it lasts, the worse it gets. I know. I've had some very bad ones with Sarek. After Spock was born, I was still quite young and we expected that more children would follow, but I only managed to conceive once more ... and I miscarried almost immediately. In those days, Spock was truly a miracle because they didn't know much about Human-Vulcan crosses. Anyway, twice after a _pon farr_ , I had to be hospitalized as you were. Sarek is a large, heavy man and, fully aroused, he completely overpowered me. Oh, not that he meant to, of course, poor dear. He was devastated by what he'd done to me, but the fact was, I simply couldn't take it any longer."

The older woman stopped and her gaze fell to the rug covering the bare stone floor. When she looked back up, her voice lowered to a confidential tone.

"Christine, I'm going to tell you something that not even Spock knows. Such things are not discussed among Vulcans and I doubt he ever thought about it." Christine's brows lifted in curiosity but she waited for Amanda to continue. "After the last time ... after I nearly died of injuries inflicted, Sarek and I knew it could not happen again. And yet, he was still in his prime. There was no way to avoid the fact that he would experience _pon farr_ again and again. We had to find a solution."

"And?" Christine prompted.

"And..." Amanda hesitated. "And, the next time ... we hired a surrogate."

"What?!" Christine didn't know what she'd expected, but it wasn't this. "You mean — another woman?"

"Yes. She was a _reldai_ at the Temple of Seleya," Amanda went on. "A priestess of the Mother Goddess Heya. You might call her a sacred prostitute, although such a label would shock the Vulcans to death. She joined us when it was time and served as the receptacle for Sarek's physical needs. I was there and melded minds with him during the Mating. It saved both him and me."

Christine had to know. "Did she ... did she ... become pregnant?"

Amanda's eyes sought the carpet again and her answer held the pain she felt. "That's something you agree never to ask," she replied. "It's a subject too taboo to discuss. I suspect the _reldai_ have ways of preventing a pregnancy or at least ending it very early on. There are to be no ties after the Mating is done. She moves on to other men for the same purpose. She's just a tool."

Christine was silent as she absorbed the information. "It is a logical solution," she admitted at last. "Horrible to us Humans, but I can see how it would work for Vulcans who aren't bonded or whose wives aren't available." Her mind took the next step, though she didn't voice it. Instead, she and her mother-in-law exchanged meaningful glances. "Thank you for telling me, Amanda. I'll remember it ... when the time comes."

* * *

As Spock and his young daughters stood feeding the _hox_ mare bits of sweet vegetables through the stable fence, Sapel quietly joined them. For a few minutes, he petted the vaguely equine animal and her new foal, then asked Spock, in an almost off-hand manner, "Papa, can I talk to you?"

"Certainly," Spock answered and waited. When Sapel didn't continue, he glanced at the boy and saw him send a meaningful glance at the girls. Spock's eyebrow flicked upward as he understood. "T'Jenn, take Kai back to the house now. It is time for her rest period."

"But we wanna feed Toqi some more," Jenny whined and little T'Kai also turned pleading dark eyes on their father.

"Now, T'Jenn," Spock responded firmly.

Grumbling, the girls gave the mare their last bit of treats, then left hand-in-hand for the main house. Finally alone with his father, Sapel spent a few more minutes collecting his thoughts and Spock took the time to note how tall his son had grown.

Sapel topped his shoulder now, well on his way to 6 feet, though still slim and lanky, yet to fill out through the shoulders. The girls were growing up fast, too, he reflected. T'Jenn was 9 now in Vulcan years and was as long-legged and coltish as the little _hox_ foal hiding behind her mother. T'Kai was 5, counting by the turn of time here, though as petite and elfin as ever, a true Vulcan child in every way. He suddenly felt a pang of ache in his heart and understood what his own father must have felt as he watched his child grow to manhood and away from him.

Sapel leaned his crossed forearms on the top rail of the stable fence and rested his chin on them. His eyes on the _hoxa_ , he asked, "Papa? How old were you when you left home?"

Spock suspected something like this was coming and remained as even-voiced as he could. "I was sixteen when I was accepted into Starfleet Academy. I left home just after my seventeenth birthday."

"I'm seventeen now," Sapel answered. "Do you think I could go to Starfleet Academy, too?"

The older Vulcan sighed very quietly. "No, Sapel, I do not," he responded honestly. "You do not have the educational background to pass the entry tests. They can be rigorous. Starfleet chooses only the top 10% of applicants and there are thousands who apply each year. Sometimes the choice of students admitted comes down to fractions of a degree between test scores."

"That's what I thought," the teenager said despondently. He mulled things over for a minute then continued, "I've been thinking about my future a lot lately. About what I want to do. And what I want to do is go back to Terra Two. I don't belong here or anywhere else in the Federation that I can think of. Two's my home. I want to explore it and map it, study the animals and plants ... do whatever I can to keep it like it is now." His voice dropped and hardened. "I am going to get back there, Papa! Whatever it takes!" He remembered something Maia had said to him. "Even if I have to hop a freighter to do it!"

Spock studied his son for a long moment then said quietly, "If that is what you desire, then I agree that you should work toward that goal. However, do not be premature in hopping this phantom freighter. Your grandfather Sarek has informed me privately that the Federation Council is very close to lifting the quarantine on travel to Avalon and will open it to colonization in the near future. I advise that you increase your efforts at study in order to secure a place among the colonists."

"Maia told me pretty much the same thing," Sapel admitted. "But she also told me I wouldn't be allowed to go because of the family. That there was too much expected of me here. Was she right?" He finally looked up and locked his dark brown eyes on his father's face.

"It is true," Spock acknowledged. "You are Seventeenth Lineal Heir to the First Seat of the High Council and your Great-Grandmother T'Lar has let it be known that she is scouting around for an appropriate mate for you."

"What?!"

Spock raised a hand to calm him. "Do not let that alarm you. She is concerned that you were not already pledged at age seven, although our circumstances made that impossible. Now all the girls your age already have pledge-mates and she is having to look at the very young girls available, something she does not like because of the age difference. But she will do what is logical. However—" Again he interrupted Sapel's protest. "— _however_ , I will not agree to such a match. I know that you do not wish it and would not be happy." He did not speak it, but Spock thought to himself, _I know how miserable such an unsuitable mating can be_.

Sapel seemed relieved. "Good, 'cause I don't want to be hooked up to some Vulcan girl for the rest of my life." He paused then surged on, "Papa, you chose Vulcan as your way of living. That's not for me. I'm three-quarters Human and that's how I feel. Papa, I choose the Human way in my life!" Then, lest he lose his momentum now that he was pouring out his heart, "And, Papa, when Granny goes back to ShiKahr, I want to go with her. I want to go to school at the Terran Embassy instead of studying here at Keldeen with a tutor. I know I've got lots of things to learn and I think I can learn them better in the city than here."

"Have you spoken with your grandmother about this?" asked Spock. "She is old and ill now. It might not be in her best interest to have you living there."

"I won't be any bother, Papa, I promise!" the boy pleaded. "And I can help take care of her. I helped take care of you and Mama and the girls lots of time, didn't I?"

"You did indeed," Spock conceded. "Very well, we will discuss it with Grandmother and Mama after final meal tonight. But we must obtain Sa'mehk Sarek's approval as well. Remember, he is quite stern and will expect you to maintain both excellent grades and appropriate decorum if you live in his household."

"I will, Papa! I swear it!" Sapel's mood had lightened considerably and he seemed years younger as a result.

"Then let us return to the house. It is becoming much too hot to remain here," Spock answered. "The household will be in after meal rest and at quiet work. And I must check on your mother. I must not let your sisters or your grandmother tire her ... as they are likely doing."

"Thank you, Papa," Sapel said sincerely. "I won't let you down. I give you my word."

* * *

The ensuing two months had passed quickly and quietly. Sapel had secured permission from Sarek and Amanda to reside with them and begin school at the Terran Embassy in ShiKahr. The move and new environment seemed to agree with him, for he had buckled down to his studies and was obviously much happier in the company of Humans and other races than Vulcan.

T'Jenn and T'Kai, however, appeared to be thriving at the small school at Keldeen, little T'Kai especially, whose Vulcan genes were showcasing themselves as she developed. She was already speaking fairly fluent Golic, as well as her still baby-ish speech could manage and, though T'Jenn was having a little trouble with it due to obviously Human vocal apparatus, she was coming along as well.

The recent _pon farr_ behind them, everyone concerned — Spock, Christine, and the household residents — acted as if it had never happened. That was the way here and Spock was happy to let the bad memories slip away and be forgotten. He busied himself through the days by catching up on 15 years' worth of reading and research in his chosen field, Daystrom multitronic computer systems, and was beginning to turn a thought or two in the direction of securing a position at the Vulcan Science Academy and teaching there. He had no real desire to go into space again, other than routine travel, and was enjoying the contentment of a family and home life, feeling very much satisfied with his life here on Vulcan.

Christine had recovered fairly well, although she continued to feel that something was not quite right within her. Her energy level was not what it should be and she suspected a low grade infection might be hanging on following the rough Mating and subsequent surgical repair that had been necessary. Today, after Jenny and Kai were done with lessons, Christine had gone into ShiKahr to check up on Sapel, drop the girls off for a visit with their grandparents, and see her physician for a consultation.

It was early evening now and they had not yet returned home.

Spock had no fear that anything was wrong, for he felt only contentment through the soft touch of the mindbond. As he stood now on the terrace of their home and sipped his _saya_ tea, he watched the twilight deepen. The sun had set already and T'Khut was not in the sky at this time of year, thus the evening came on quickly and dark enveloped the holding of Keldeen, nestled on the northern side of the Llangon Hills. The sounds of night insects and reptiles gradually began to interject themselves into the dusk and stars appeared like diamond dust across the clear sky.

Spock could not suppress a secret smile. He still loved gazing up at the night sky, picking out stars he knew, places he had been, watching the barely visible streaks of ships going to warp as they left orbit for places unknown. For a fleeting second, those ships pulled at him, then he let the impulse die away. His life was here now. He had settled his family on his ancestral holding and here they would stay. It was where Spock ultimately belonged. He was Sixteenth Lineal Heir to the First Seat of the Council and would one day inherit it.

T'Pau, who had held the Seat for nearly 100 years, had died during their exile on Avalon. She had been 232 when she finally let go of her tenacious hold on life. Her daughter T'Lar now ruled the Family. She was 189 and still vigorous. Next in line was Sarek, 136 and of uncertain health. His heart condition still troubled him and, worst, Spock had noticed a very slight tendency toward heightened emotions in his father. Spock worried that Sarek might be developing Bendii's Syndrome, but it was much too early for a diagnosis. More likely it was simple stress over the Avalon question, the events of his son's return, and Amanda's rapidly failing vigor. She would die in the next few years, an elderly Human, whose lifespan was half that of Vulcans. That made Spock think of Christine and his heart constricted that he, too, would outlive his adored wife. Then he shook that thought off as unproductive and took another sip of tea.

Spock was next in line for the First Seat and, after him was Sapel — three-quarters Human and not in the least inclined to follow the Tenets of Surak. The young man was Vulcan in appearance but Human in his thoughts and emotions. He had no interest whatsoever in following the well-carved steps that the Family wished him to take.

Spock sighed and took another sip of the cooling tea. Sarek must be regretting the long ago decision that disinherited Sybok and cast him from the Family as _k'torr skann_. At least Sybok was full Vulcan and could have produced full Vulcan heirs for the Clan, despite his rebellious and scandalous beliefs. But what was done was done. _Kai'idth_. There was no returning over a bridgeway knocked down.

And there was still hope for the Family, of course. Sarek's heirs were not the only ones available in the Heritage. There were cousins, the descendants of Salkar's other two sons, not as prestigious as the Eldest Sons of Eldest Sons, but rightful heirs nonetheless. No doubt the fact galled Sarek to the bone, but he had created the problem himself by marrying a Human and siring a son on her. It had diluted the Blood and had shamed the Family. Now that half-Human son had also married a Human and further weakened the line.

Spock pictured the fury that must have boiled within his venerable Great-Grandmother — T'Pau — before her death, bedridden with extreme old age, but still ruling the Family with a fist of iron. She'd arranged the original match between Spock and his second cousin, T'Pring, when they were children in hopes of repairing some of the damage, but to no avail. Things had backfired spectacularly and had spiraled downward from there. More shame heaped upon the Family and now her eldest daughter, T'Lar, had taken over leadership of Clan duties. The latest directive coming down from the Matriarch was that Spock was to arrange a meeting between Sapel and T'Syldan, the daughter of another distant cousin.

It would never happen. Sapel had plans of his own and Spock fully approved them. Moreover, so did Christine and, in her own way, she was just as stubborn and strong as T'Lar. Christine was a survivor and she was determined that her son was going to be happy and live his own life!

A commotion in the house announced the return of his own family and Spock turned away from the desert view to greet his brood. T'Jenn was first through the terrace doors, at a run as was her want, followed more sedately by T'Kai. The two girls were as different as night and day ... or as different as Human and Vulcan. T'Jenn, now a pre-teen, was by appearance and action, fully Human, blue-eyed and dark blonde like her mother. T'Kai, an incongruously dignified five-year-old, possessed all the innate poise and grace of her Vulcan forebearers. She would be absolutely breathtaking when grown.

"Papa!" announced T'Jenn and careened into her father, wrapping her arms around his waist and giving him an enthusiastic hug.

"Daughter, you must contain yourself," Spock reproved her mildly. "Such conduct is not seemly here on Vulcan."

"But we're at home, Papa," the girl responded, a little hurt by his rebuff. "Nobody can see me."

"The household staff sees you as do the other members of the Family who reside here," he answered. "You must learn to be less open in the expression of your emotions. You must be considerate of others' feelings."

"But you _own_ Keldeen, Papa," Jenny argued back. "Why can't I do what I want to here?"

"Keldeen is a Family holding, daughter," Spock answered. "And it is polite to follow the customs of the people you live among."

"Okay..." Deflated, the little girl turned away.

Spock reached out and ruffled her hair. "I am glad you are home, Jenn," he said, smiling reassuringly at her. "Now, go get ready for evening meal."

She grinned and hurried back inside. T'Kai had waited politely for her father's attention, but there was an eagerness shining in her eyes, as well. With studied formality, she held up her right hand with her little fingers slightly spread. "I greet dee, Papa," she declared in slightly flawed Vulcan.

Greatly amused, Spock returned the _ta'al_ salute and replied in kind, "I greet thee, my daughter."

That broke the child's reserve and she suddenly giggled in delight, returning to English. "We learned in school today, Papa!"

The tall Vulcan set his cup down on a terrace bench and knelt to his daughter's level. "You have learned it very well, T'Kai. You have done your family great honor today. Now, go and change for the meal."

The child skipped after her sister and Spock straightened back to his full height, noticing for the first time that his wife was standing in the doorway, watching the scene. Now she came forward and reached up to kiss him lightly. "Sorry it took so long," she said. "I intended to be home earlier."

"As long as you have returned safely," her husband replied. "How is Sapel? And my parents?"

"Good. All good," Christine responded and picked up the stone cup he had set down. "Tea?" She took a sip. "What's the occasion? You don't usually get this thing off the shelf."

"I was thinking of Avalon," he answered. "I thought to commemorate our exile there."

"Hmm... not a memory I cherish in and of itself, but if it hadn't happened, we wouldn't be together today," she acknowledged.

"Indeed. What did your doctor find? Are you well, my wife?"

"I'm absolutely splendid," Christine responded, looking up at him with a smile. "I just need vitamins."

There was something about her manner that made Spock pause. "Vitamins? No infection? No residual effects from ... what happened?"

Christine glanced back into the house and saw that the kitchen workers were setting out dishes on the low table where the family dined. "I'll tell you after supper. Come on, let's eat. I'm starved! So, tell me ... how was your day?" And she took his arm, leading him in from the terrace.

* * *

Vulcan meals were silent, contemplative affairs, but Spock and his immediate family had long ago broken with tradition. The children were always eager to share the highlights of their day and their parents interested to listen.

As a consequence, the family dined apart from the other residents of Keldeen, who found talking and eating to be separate activities. Most also considered Spock's adoption of Earth manners to be the result of his _qomi_ heritage and tolerated it, although they did not condone it. It was simply one of his quirks, to be endured because he was Elder and wished it to be so.

There was much to tell tonight, for both T'Jenn and T'Kai had been to see their grandmother, who coddled them shamelessly, had been into ShiKahr and visited the Terran Embassy, where their brother was in school, and had watched shuttles lift off from the spaceport and disappear into the ochre sky.

Spock and Christine listened patiently to their daughters chatter until finally T'Kai tried unsuccessfully to hide a yawn and her mother declared their mealtime at an end and sent the girls up to get ready for bed. There was the usual amount of protesting but both went without much fuss. It had been a very long day for both of them.

"I'll be up to tuck you in later," Christine promised, then turned back to her own meal.

"You haven't eaten much," Spock observed quietly.

"Just a little tired, I guess," Christine answered and pushed her food around half-heartedly.

"You still haven't told me what the doctor said," her husband continued, steepling his fingers and resting his elbows on the table.

"He said I'm fine. That's about all." Christine kept her eyes averted and on her plate.

Spock caught the hedging immediately and cocked his head slightly. "He said more than that, didn't he?"

"All right. Yes, he did, but I don't want to talk about it here at the table. Too many ears in the vicinity," she said.

Spock's eyebrow went up and he understood. There were always people around and Vulcan hearing was very acute.

"Would you like to retire to the garden?"

"Yes, that would be nice." Christine smiled at him and they both got to their feet, leaving the remains of their meal to be removed by the kitchen staff.

Going back out onto the terrace, Christine shivered at the briskness of the desert night air and Spock snagged the _paran_ wool wrap that hung by the doorway, settling it on his wife's shoulders.

"Thanks. That's better," she sighed. "I'm still caught off guard by how cold it can get at night."

They stepped off the paving stones and made their leisurely way among the native plants that filled the garden, many of them night-blooming and perfuming the air with delicate fragrance. Little nightflyers buzzed among the blossoms, feeding on sweet nectar, reminding Christine of hummingbirds, although the Vulcan animals were closer to reptiles than anything. They almost looked like minuscule dragons, dipping their long, thread-like tongues deep into the flower centers, then drawing back, lilliputian faces dusted with frosty pollen.

For some time, Spock and Christine simply walked, enjoying the dark garden and bright stars overhead. When they had gone a little ways from the house, he came to a halt and turned his wife to face him.

"We are quite alone now," he said, his voice taking on a hint of command. "Tell me what the doctor said."

"Kiss me first," she answered, moving closer to him.

"You are procrastinating," he retorted mildly, almost in warning but with a shade of humor to soften it.

"Kiss me," she insisted, "and I'll tell you." There was a sly smile on her face and her eyes twinkled in the starlight.

Spock bent toward her, canting his head slightly and taking her offered mouth firmly in a long kiss. As he lifted his lips from hers, she whispered, "Meld with me, Spock. I need to be one with you."

His emotions and curiosity piqued by her actions, he nevertheless lifted his long fingers to her face and easily found her psi points. The ways into her mind were familiar and he slipped along the pathways, encountering a bit of resistance as he did.

Then she opened her mind fully to his and he saw all that she had kept from him. With a gasp, he drew back and stared at her, almost uncomprehending at what she had shown him.

"This is not possible," he declared.

Christine was laughing with joy, her secret revealed. "It _is_ _!_ I _am_ _!_ "

"But how?" he demanded. "I would have known. You did not conceive!"

"They broke us up too soon," she grinned. "Your little wigglers were busy in my fallopian tubes when the attendants called in the healers. If they'd left us alone a little longer, we would have come out of it naturally."

"I don't believe it!" Spock was clearly shocked almost beyond words.

"Believe it!" Christine laughed back at him.

He was still gripping her shoulders. "Twins?!" She nodded, too overcome to speak, her laughter now mingled with tears of joy.

Spock pulled her into his arms and for a very long time they simply stood clutching one another, a maelstrom of emotions surging back and forth between them. And there was something else there, too, that gradually discerned itself as they sorted through their own emotions. Christine whispered against his ear, "Can you feel it?"

"Yes!" he responded. "They're here!"

She nodded and pulled away, wiping tears from her face. "I carried their _katras_ from Avalon. We're getting a second chance. The boy is Soran and the girl is T'Larin. They've come back to us!"

Spock pulled Christine back into his arms, then with a most unVulcan reaction, he laughed out loud himself and whirled her around in pure unadulterated jubilation. It sent a flurry of nightflyers buzzing out of the surrounding blossoms in startled flight but the pair didn't care. He was kissing her for all he was worth and neither one cared who saw them or disapproved.

* * *

It took a little while, but the pair finally regained their composure and continued their stroll in the garden, following the winding path back to the terrace. Their joy still sang between them through their bondlink but outwardly they were calm and in control.

Hands clasped loosely behind his back — he didn't dare touch his wife, even in proper marital finger contact — Spock said conversationally as they walked, "I had news today myself."

"Oh?"

"My father contacted me privately to announce that the Federation Council has approved lifting the quarantine on Avalon," Spock replied. "They will be sending an exploration team soon in preparation for opening the planet to colonization."

"That's good news!" Christine answered. "Though I hope they are able to work out something with the Teela people. I really would hate to see anything happen that would adversely impact them."

"Indeed. It will be a delicate balancing act. That is why they are sending negotiators with the exploration team." Spock paused for a long moment as their path came back to the house and the lights streaming out onto the patio. There he stopped and faced his wife. "Sarek said they plan to ask me to go back to Avalon to act as ambassador between the Federation and the Teela."

Christine's mouth fell open in shock. "You're not actually planning to go, are you?" she demanded.

"I said I would give it due consideration," her husband replied in a calming manner. "But, no. I have no intention of going. Especially not now. I cannot leave you and the new babies or the girls, and you certainly cannot go with me. This pregnancy will require advanced medical care, I suspect, and I will not endanger you for any reason!"

Christine smiled warmly. "That makes me feel better. I know I'm being selfish, Spock, but I couldn't stand being parted from you like that. If you went, I'd want to go, too. And these little ones—" She rested her hand on her still flat abdomen. "—deserve better than being born in a cave or a field."

"I quite agree," he whispered and risked trailing his fingertips down her cheek. Instantly, nearly overwhelming desire flooded through him and he was forced to clamp down tightly on the surge of emotion that threatened to undo him.

Christine felt it as well and she was unsure which one of them was the source. Maybe both, combined and intensified by the urgency they both felt. "Let's go up and say good night to the girls," she murmured, her blue eyes locked on her husband's dark brown ones. "Then I really want to go to bed. I need you so much!"

"My _aduna_ ," he whispered huskily, the intensity of his fathomless gaze saying it all.

* * *

With infinite gentleness, Spock laid Christine back onto the pillows of their bed and followed her closely into their embrace, his gaze locked onto hers, filled with the love he felt for her. She reached up to caress his face as their lips met, eyes closing, and her hands buried themselves in the depths of his thick dark hair, her thumbs stroking the points of his ears.

Groaning against her lips, Spock sought entry between her teeth and she granted it eagerly. The kiss deepened as he drew her against him, their tongues fencing in the hot recesses of each other's mouths, each touch adding fuel to the growing flame that danced through their veins. Breaking for air, Spock moved his kisses to her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks, and finally under her chin to where her wild pulse throbbed in her throat. There he latched on and sucked as if seeking her very lifeblood, but instead leaving a purpling mark that branded her as his own, his mate.

Christine gasped deeply, her fingers still buried in the lush black mane, as he nibbled and kissed her burning flesh, and urged him lower. Spock complied readily, inching down over her collarbone to her chest and finally reaching the ample globes of her breasts. There he paused for a moment to simply look at her as his hands caressed her. She was 49 now and her breasts no longer stood as full and alert as they had when he'd first gazed on their smooth perfection. She had suckled three children and gone fifteen years without the support of an undergarment; there were faint stretch marks and her bosom sagged a bit against her chest, but to him she was absolutely beautiful. In his eyes, no more desirable or flawless pair of breasts had ever existed. The full nipples and rosy areolae stood proud and erect, beckoning him to feast on their bounty.

With a moan, he fell upon the nearest one, taking as much as he could into his mouth while his hand covered and massaged the other. His tongue licked and tickled, lips soothed, mouth sucked her in with fervor, but never to the point of discomfort. With his hand, he rolled and pulled at her nipple, squeezing with his fingers, fondling with his whole palm. After a while, he shifted his position and switched breasts, treating each to the same attention. Back and forth he went until Christine was writhing underneath him, groaning with rapidly building arousal.

Then, with his free hand, Spock reached down and slipped his fingers into the moist cleft of her sex, sliding them lightly over the swollen protuberance he found there. Christine jumped in reaction and gasped loudly. Lifting his head to watch her face, he gently and thoroughly manipulated her throbbing womanhood, slick with her oil and quivering with incipient climax. At the very point he felt her ready to burst, he suddenly slipped his long middle finger into her center and worked it rapidly, again and again, deep within her.

Christine's whole body arched up off the bed with a cry as her first orgasm erupted. Watching her face closely, Spock continued his manual thrusting as her features became suffused with radiant ecstasy and she soared, caught in its flight. Then, as she began to come down, he withdrew his finger from her and returned to softly stroking her mound.

Breathing deeply, Christine opened brilliant blue eyes and smiled. "Wow!" she said and grinned wickedly. "Now it's my turn!"

"I had intended simply to pleasure _you_ tonight," he protested mildly.

"Then allow me to play with you a little," she replied seductively, raising herself on one elbow, her eyes smoldering. "That will pleasure me."

"Play with me?" The slim dark brows rose in puzzlement.

"Mm-hmm," she smiled. "Just lie back and enjoy it."

Pushing at his shoulder, she got him to recline flat on his back and then she lifted herself up over him. At first, all she did was kiss him, long and languorously, savoring the taste of his tongue on hers. Once, he attempted to slide his arms around her body, but she gently fended him off. "Just lie there," she commanded.

Spock obeyed her bidding, though the warmth of her naked body hovering over his was sore temptation. Her full breasts dragged across his chest, nipples teasing the dark hair until he was nearly overcome with the urge to seize them and return to his earlier oral explorations. Still, he restrained himself, wondering what she had in mind.

He soon found out. Hoisting herself a little higher above him, she took his chin in her fingers and turned his head slightly to one side. With her other hand, she raked his thick raven hair behind his ear, out of the way, then descended on his bared ear with her mouth. A Vulcan's ears were sensitive erogenous zones, as she knew all too well, and her hot breath and lips brought him wide-eyed with a start. For a second, he almost shoved her away reflexively, then lay still, all his attention focused on her actions.

With her tongue, she followed the curves with delicate finesse, teasing, then sucked the exquisitely pointed tip into her mouth and worked it gently, pinching the lobe with her nails. Spock caught his breath with a sharp tremor and gripped the bedsheets with both fists, the fire in his groin nearly threatening to consume him. She had brought him fully erect and had not even touched his penis yet. Gulping, he clenched both eyes and teeth shut, holding his body in tense control.

Christine smiled at his reaction and lifted her face, turned his head to the other side, and repeated the treatment on his other ear, but this time faster and rougher.

It was more than he could stand. Grasping her shoulders, he pushed her away with a moan. "Christine! You are driving me insane! Don't you know what that does to me?!"

She laughed sultrily, deep in her throat. "Oh, yes, my love! I know _exactly_ what it does to you!"

To prove her point, she reached down his torso and clasped the distended staff lying up flat against his abdomen. He was achingly hard, all the ridges and veins and hot steel giving graphic testimony to his arousal. Her fingers caressed him, stroked down to the base then trailed back up to ring him just below the crown, beginning to slowly pump him in her fist. Against her palm, she could feel the blood pulse with his wildly beating heart and, peering into his face, she whispered, "Do you want me to suck you? Would that feel good?"

He swallowed hard again and opened his eyes, pupils dilated until they were black with passion. "If you do, I won't be able to control myself," he answered in a husky baritone. "I am so near now that I am about to come in your hand. Do you want this?"

"No," she murmured back, her features holding the same strained expression as his. "No, I want you _in_ me!"

Releasing him abruptly, so that his turgid penis bobbed up free, Christine swung a leg over his hips and crouched above him on hands and knees. "Put it in me, Spock," she ordered in a breathless whisper. "I need you in me!"

His own respiration shallow and rough, Spock reached between them and grasped his erection, bringing it up vertical toward the tantalizing goal she offered. He clenched his teeth together as the nerve-packed tip pushed between her soft, swollen folds and lodged in the mouth of her vagina. For a long second, they hung there motionless, then she exerted downward pressure with her body and the ridges of the head popped past the muscles that rimmed her opening and he was inside her.

Both gasped and shuddered at the initial little explosions of sensation that accompanied penetration, then she settled down astride him, taking him fully within her. He never got used to this, he thought as she braced her hands on his shoulders and began to move. No matter how many times they joined in sexual union, it was always as the first. He had undergone several sexual encounters before he met Christine, but he had never known the emotional fulfillment of making love as opposed to simply having intercourse. Vulcans were taught that they could not experience love and thus, for most, sex was a procreational activity, not a time of bonding with their mates.

Christine had taught him what it was to love and be loved in return. And he knew that he truly loved her now, more than ever. Peering up into her beautiful face, framed by her sable hair and youthful despite her age, Spock felt compelled to be completely joined with her. Reaching up, he slipped his hands up her cheeks and let his fingertips unerringly find her psi points. Her mind opened eagerly to his and he sank into her thoughts with practiced ease.

Drawing her down to his body, he rolled her beneath him and took control, both physically and mentally, and as she gasped and clung to him, he took her back to a place far away in their memories.

* * *

As deftly as he plucked the strings of his lyre, Spock plucked memories from Christine's mind, beginning with the first time they'd ever laid eyes on one another, the day she'd beamed aboard with McCoy as part of the replacement medical team. Spock had been standing beside the transporter operator, ready in his capacity as First Officer to greet the newly arrived officers and give them their personnel packets. Christine had found herself entranced by the cool, dark alien eyes and for a few seconds' time, she forgot how to breathe...

The memory changed abruptly to one of pain and revelation. The ship was in a death spiral and they were all sick with a madness they seemed powerless to stop. She had caught his hand, caressed his face and confessed her love for him. It had stopped him cold, amazed that anyone would love him ... that anyone _could_ love him, unaware that she had unwittingly passed the infection along to him with her touch. He spoke her name and filled it with longing and sadness, so that she understood and let him go. It didn't matter that they were about to die. He knew now that she loved him and he had responded as well as he could, telegraphing his regret to her that it could not now be.

// _I nearly came back to you_ ,// Spock's voice whispered in her mind. // _Do you know that I wept because I could not love?_ //

That brought an answering twinge of shock from her, but he moved her further along the path of her memories — all the times she had cared for him in sick bay, or they had worked side-by-side in the labs, or simply exchanged a glance across a room...

Her memories rested for a moment on the events at Exo III, at his strength and gentleness toward her when she lost what she had come here seeking, at how, as they'd pulled out of orbit, Spock had stood beside her on the bridge and then followed her with his eyes as she walked away and boarded the turbolift.

// _You have beautiful legs_ ,// his thoughts commented and she glowed with pleasurable warmth.

Again her mind sped ahead until they hit against the awful events of Deneva. He had never experienced such pain as then and his emotional control threatened to crumple under its assault. She had been beside him as much as she could, not daring to touch him lest she break his concentration, but sending silent support and love his way. And, when he'd found himself blind, alone in the dark, it was her hand that sought his, giving him a solid presence to hang onto. She didn't speak during this time, but simply waited as he came to terms with his shock and panic, and he began to love her for the strength and control she offered him until he was whole once more.

And then a scene burned in her memories because it marked a turning point in their relationship — his cabin ... the trip to Vulcan ... and his first overt step toward her.

"It is illogical to protest against our natures, don't you think?" he'd asked her and, though she professed not to understand, she knew. Oh, how well she knew what he was offering her.

And then he stepped toward her and cradled her face between his hands, bending to kiss her with lips as hot as brands, searing himself into her soul.

// _That's not how it happened!_ // her mind protested.

// _It is how I wanted it to happen_,// he answered and took the altered memory forward, their clothing falling away as he devoured her — _demanded_ her — and took her down onto his bed to claim her as the mate he wanted, the woman he needed above all others. Clinging to his burning body, she opened herself fully to receive him, experiencing the odd dual sensation of feeling him climax simultaneously in her meld-dream and in the reality of their entwined physical bodies.

When both had recovered, he moved her ahead once more, skimming over memories until the shooting on Neural. He'd lain near death, so deep in a healing trance that he nearly lost his hold on the world outside his own mind. She had anchored him, the touch of her hand gripping his giving him the thread to consciousness he needed to find his way back. By the time he'd recovered, there was a bond between them that felt as comfortable and well-worn as a lifetime with a bonded mate — and she felt it, too!

The comfort level of their relationship deepened as the everyday remembrances sped by. More glimpses of day-to-day life ... familiar nods exchanged ... friendly words spoken ... quiet companionship as they worked ...

Then their mental journey reached the encounter with Henoch and here Spock hesitated, swaddling Christine's mind in comfort, for the alien being had used the Vulcan's body to violate Christine, both mentally and physically. Each of them had been raped by the powerful entity, something Spock had not learned until Thalassa had placed his consciousness into Christine's mind for safe keeping.

The blending of their minds had been a maelstrom of emotions on both their parts and Spock had been forced to cocoon the woman's psyche in strong mental bonds in order to protect himself and her as he took on Henoch in a final battle. But in doing so, he suddenly knew Christine better than she knew herself. In the flash of their touching souls, he had read her _katra_ , everything she was and hoped to be — and quickly isolated himself from her. Such vision was a violation in and of itself and anathema to a well-trained Vulcan telepath.

After they were separated, Spock had stood beside her on the bridge, mortified by the whole occurrence and knew they both had a lot to deal with, whether individually or together. It had taken a long time and a lengthy regimen of counseling before Christine was able to feel comfortable with Spock once more. Likewise, he meditated for days before he could face her with any sort of equanimity. It put a distance between them again, one that ebbed and flowed but which gradually receded until the two were able to interact with a warmth that had only begun to glow before Henoch invaded their lives.

Then came Platonius and the nightmare repeated itself for both of them — powerful beings controlling them like puppets, forcing them into intimacies against their wills. And once again Christine found herself pressed beneath Spock's body, his mouth bearing down hard on hers, his pelvis grinding into hers. Involuntarily, her mind began to scream, living Henoch's rape all over again, powerless to resist.

Then suddenly Spock's thoughts brought her back to the present, calming her, reassuring, his strength and gentleness wrapping her in radiant heat.

// _Don't be afraid. It's in the past. I won't let anyone hurt you again. I won't hurt you, beloved. Concentrate on me, Christine, not the memories. Hide in my thoughts. Hold onto me_.//

And she did, her thudding heart beginning to slow to a normal rate, even as the remembrance of Parmen's cruelty continued to play in the background of her mind, like a half‑forgotten dream. She was home, she told herself. In Spock's arms, in their bed, safe and loved, and she found herself giving a little moan in response.

// _I had wanted you for so long_ ,// her mind whispered. // _But not like that. Oh, Spock, forgive me_...//

// _Shhhh... There is nothing to forgive_ ,// he answered. // _You were there because they found you in my mind, as the one woman I desired and could not have. They brought you down to taunt and torture me with that knowledge_.//

// _Oh, Spock, all you had to do was ask_ ,// she responded with a touching sadness.

It seemed that he locked his depthless brown eyes onto hers, intense and utterly devoid of any pretense. All ways were opened between them, for he had dropped the illusion of any indifference he'd ever had toward her.

For a long moment, the compelling gaze held the two together, then Spock whispered into her mind, // _Then I ask, Christine. I ask_...//

With a delighted laugh, she slipped her arms around his neck and drew him down to kiss her. "A little late, but appreciated nonetheless," she said out loud.

He pulled away from their meld and moved off her so that they were snuggled together, their bodies still in full contact from shoulder to foot, her moist skin pressed into his warm, dry length.

"That was interesting," she commented. "Any reason for this little trip down memory lane?"

"I was simply feeling ... um ... nostalgic tonight," Spock replied with a little smile. "As I said earlier, I was thinking of Avalon today. I had intended to take us through all our time there." He peered at her speculatively. "Do you wish to continue?"

"No, not really," she answered. "I'm a little tired."

"Of course. Forgive me. You must be sure to get adequate rest now." Lovingly, he trailed the back of his fingers across her abdomen.

"I'm okay," she assured him. "But it has been a long day."

"I am inexcusably selfish, beloved," Spock whispered and stroked her face. "Sleep now." He leaned to kiss her lightly then settled into his pillow and closed his eyes.

Christine did the same but found that, even though her body was tired, her mind was wide awake. As she tried to relax, she became aware of the late evening silence and that the night sounds of Keldeen were more noticeable than they were in the daytime. The breeze made soft music as it flowed around the tiles of the roof and leatherwings squeaked quietly in their nocturnal flights in search of insects. Far overhead came the nearly inaudible doppler of a ship heading out from the ShiKahr spaceport on the other side of the Llangon Hills. Somewhere in the house, soft voices spoke together in Vulcan and a door closed. And very far away, in the wilderness of the hills, came the squawl of a hunting _le-matya_.

"Did you hear that?" Christine asked, sure that Spock was still awake beside her.

"Yes."

"It made me think about the lions on Terra Two."

"Mmmm..." He acknowledged her without opening his eyes.

She was quiet for a few minutes then giggled softly. "Do you remember our first night there? How we spent it in a tree?"

"Of course."

"I ripped my hosiery trying to climb that tree."

"I got an excellent look up your skirt as I boosted you into that tree," he replied in the same half-asleep voice.

"Spock! You are the biggest lecher I have ever known!" she declared in mock outrage, then chuckled again and teased, "You could've looked anytime if you'd just asked, you know."

"Again with the asking," he murmured.

"Oh, go to sleep!"

"As should you."

Again Christine fell silent and Spock's breathing became heavy and regular. Still, her mind galloped along at full speed.

She shifted more onto her back and slipped one hand behind her head, her gaze watching the faint play of lambent light on the ceiling. It hadn't been so bad there, she reflected as her thoughts drifted to the sun-washed plains of Avalon. The blue sky stretched cloudless over the vast savannah, herds of _mesohippus_ horses and antelope grazing in harmony on the golden grasses. Dark spots showed little groups of bison, the huge black bulls watching over their cows and calves, occasionally shaking their horns at one another.

Christine absently rested her hand on her abdomen and felt the tiny spark that was Soran acknowledge her. She had lost the baby in a bison attack but his nebulous _katra_ had lingered to ultimately rejoin his mother's soul. Intertwined with his, T'Larin stirred beside her brother. They were barely formed inside Christine's womb and there was no sentient thoughts, simply the basic awareness of self and each other.

With a fond smile, Christine rubbed her belly and let her eyes drift shut. Again her thoughts went back to Avalon and she dreamed. This time her children — _all_ her children — walked with her in the glorious summer afternoon.

She was hand-in-hand with Spock and they were as they had been there. Spock's raven hair hung loose, nearly to his waist, blue-black in the hot, brilliant sunlight, his bronzed, muscular body naked to the waist. Below he was clad in fringed leggings and breechcloth, knife sheathed at his waist, moccasins on his feet. She wore a soft leather dress, beaded with little shells, and her own soft shoes. Sapel, now a wide-shouldered young man, wore only a loincloth, and his nearly teenaged sister, T'Jenn, a hip wrap and halter. But the little ones, T'Kai, T'Larin and Soran, were gleefully naked as they chased butterflies through the waving grass, spooking hoppers and beetles into flight as well.

Trailing behind them was Scruffy with her latest litter of spotted kittens and ahead, lying in the crook of a tree, was Mooch, the little ferret-like animal they'd lost so long ago, crouching and watching them with her bright black eyes. Out on the plains, a dun-colored mare whinnied to her foal and they trotted back to their herd.

"Oh, look, Spock," Christine said in her dream. "It's Mezzie! She _did_ make it through the storm, after all."

"Of course she did," he answered in his wonderful deep voice. "We _all_ made it through." He nodded toward the tree line on the edge of the plain and Christine turned to see a group of small upright figures making their way through the tall grass. Some carried spears, others packs on their shoulders. Even smaller ones leaped and chased each other about in play.

"Picku!" exclaimed Christine as she recognized the troop of lemuroids coming toward them.

The Teela'u female stretched out her hands and clasped them warmly in Spock and Christine's. She was only chest-high to them, her golden eyes wide and wise, long creamy fur now shading toward gray. Her dark-skinned face was scarred and her shoulders stooped with age.

// _My friends_ ,// she said telepathically. // _It is good to see you return_.//

// _We feel great joy to see you_ ,// Spock replied.

// _Our parting was sad_ ,// Picku acknowledged then turned her eyes on Christine. // _Your children grow_.//

// _Yes. And yours?_ // Christine indicated the young lemurs hanging back behind the adults and staring in mixed amazement and curiosity at the strangers.

// _My children's children_ ,// Picku replied serenely. // _I am old now_.//

// _And do you live in peace?_ // queried Spock.

Picku looked back up at him. // _Our enemies are far away_ ,// she said. // _Unless you bring new ones_.//

Her gaze lowered and went past him. Christine and Spock both turned and saw what the Teela'u matriarch referenced.

A hundred yards behind them were Humans — men, women and children. Several dozen of them. They waited expectantly, silent, and Christine understood. It was the colony, poised and ready to begin their work here on this planet. They were waiting on Spock, the ambassador and liaison between themselves and the Teela people. Among them was a green-eyed girl, but her gaze was locked on Sapel and his was on her. They seemed to be poised on the threshold of their own future.

Christine could only close her eyes and wait to see what happened.

Abruptly, she found herself awake and back in her bedroom, some night sound having woken her. Spock slept peacefully beside her, his breathing bordering occasionally on a soft snore, one large hand resting lightly atop her abdomen, sheltering his children within her. For a moment, she lay savoring his protective, masculine presence beside her, loving him for it, but her mind was still whirling with the sights, sounds and smells of Avalon, and the dream lingered, begging to be resolved. She closed her eyes once more and tried to fall back asleep.

But her brain obstinately refused to sink into slumber. Restlessly, she turned over her memories of their home in exile — the cave and the creek, the waterfall and pond ... the crack of ice in winter and the enfolding heat in summer ... the taste of fresh-picked berries in fall and the first green shoots in spring... storm clouds flickering with lightning on the horizon and black, crystal-strewn skies at night ... the ocean breeze and scent of pines at Sea Home, the steaming hot pool there, the trickle of rockborn springs on the hillsides ... the dangers and freedom and struggle and limitless expanses ...

The slight tension of her body and activity of her mind caused Spock to stir beside her. "What's wrong?" he asked in a low voice.

"Nothing. I was just thinking."

"Mmm..." he murmured and shut his eyes again.

For a minute she was quiet then said, "You _did_ tell Sarek you wouldn't go back to Avalon, right?"

"I told him I would give it due thought."

"But that meant 'no', didn't it?"

"Yes." His voice was muzzy, sinking back into sleep.

Again there was silence then Christine spoke once more. "It would be insane, after all, to uproot the kids and go back there, you know." She sounded as if she were stating the obvious.

"Yes."

"With the babies coming and the girls just beginning to do well at their schooling."

"Mmmm..."

"And Sapel finally settling in..."

He didn't even answer this time.

"And me finishing up my medical degree and all. I mean, I'm just getting back into the swing of bioresearch and helping Leonard with those samples we brought back from there. There's so much work to be done on classifying the diseases of a new planet!"

Spock opened his eyes and stared at the silhouette of his wife. "If it will make you more at ease, I will contact Sarek tomorrow and give him a firm 'no'."

"No, no, I believe you," Christine answered hastily. "There's no need for that. I mean, Sarek knows you're talking with the Science Academy about a position there. He should know better than to ask you to do something so foolish as drop that and go back to that god-forsaken planet we were on!"

"If it will help you relax and cease worrying, I shall call him immediately!" Spock retorted.

He threw back the covers and made to get out of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Christine asked, puzzled.

"To call Sarek."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Spock. It's the middle of the night."

The Vulcan sighed heavily and lay back down, pulling the blanket over him. "Very well, then I will put through the call before breakfast in the morning." He punched his pillow up and dropped his head into its soft embrace, giving a soft little grunt as he did so.

"Whatever you want..." his wife said distractedly and trailed off.

She didn't say anything else and silence descended once more. Spock was just getting back to sleep when Christine's voice came out of the darkness yet again.

"It's just that I was thinking ... about Terra Two and the colony..."

Spock sighed again and resolved himself to getting no more sleep this night. "What about them?" he asked resignedly.

After all, he told himself, Christine was pregnant and pregnant women sometimes must be indulged.

"Well..." she said slowly. "I was just thinking about all the things they'll need and the jobs to be done. You know, we know so much about the planet that they'll need to know... the least we could do would be serve as advisors, I suppose."

"Of course. And?"

"Well..." She hesitated and then continued thoughtfully. "Well, I was just thinking ... a new colony like that... they're going to need a doctor on staff, aren't they?"

 

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two follow up stories that I will post later. This is not the end of Spock and Christine's journey. I also have a sequel to this novel wandering around in my head and hope to write it before too much time has passed. Meanwhile, I hope you've enjoyed this saga! -- Cheree Cargill


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